Victimes de Nous mêmes
by Kashii Ai
Summary: It is the many connections between them all, some close, some tenuous, that define them. These are the hearts that make up Pandora. More than anyone, it's themselves that they victimize. A cast study in three arcs, alternate ending. OzxAlicexGil OT3.
1. Prologue: Kings and Queens

**Disclaimer:** All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

_Victimes de Nous-mêmes _story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.

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**A/N: **Hello! I am Kashii Ai, and I am pleased to finally deliver you _Victimes de Nous-mêmes_. This fic has been in the works since last June, and it's my biggest fanfiction project thus far! A few things before we begin . . .

This story is an alternate ending to Pandora Hearts. That's not to say I won't be happy with how the canon ends—in all honestly, this began as a kink meme fill and slowly mutated. It was originally supposed to be a canon interpretation fic, but 65 basically nullified everything that happens here. :"D So alternate ending it is~!

The story has both fanart and a fansoundtrack. You can see the both the fansoundtrack, and the fanart, on LiveJournal. There are links to both on my profile.

I highly, HIGHLY suggest you check out the FST—this story is inspired by that playlist, and each track corresponds to a chapter. There is also a very talented art team working on the illustrations (besides myself)-updates run on their contributions!

This story will be divided into three arcs, with four interludes, and a prologue and an epilogue. The first two arcs are pre-written. So updates should be fairly regular, if the art teams comes though! Also, we need more artists, so if you are at all interested in drawing for this story, send me a PM.

Thaaaat is pretty much it. Without further adieu, I present to you _Victimes de Nous-mêmes_. I hope you enjoy~!

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**FST:** _Kings and Queens_ 30 Seconds to Mars

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**Prologue:**** Kings and Queens**

Victims of ourselves  
we deserve our crowns.  
We are Kings and Queens  
and we all fall down.

One—

To have love  
in our hearts  
of white doves.  
We start to heal,  
wounds are closing  
Pandora's Box is yet  
still sealed.

Victims of ourselves  
we deserve our crowns.  
We are Kings and Queens  
and we all fall down.

Two—

And life dies  
in our hands  
hear our cries.  
So much we lacked  
wounds are open  
Pandora's Box is yet  
still cracked.

Victims of ourselves  
we deserve our crowns.  
We are Kings and Queens  
and we all fall down.

Three—

Here we war  
in our place  
hit the floor.  
Here lies the key  
wounds are gone  
Pandora's Box is yet  
still free.

Victims of ourselves  
we deserve our crowns.  
We are Kings and Queens  
and we all fall down.


	2. Interlude I: The Caged Dove

**Disclaimer:** All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

_Victimes de Nous-mêmes _story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.

* * *

**Interlude I:**** The Caged Dove**

The Will of the Abyss would dream about doves. Blinding in their purity and white feathers, they would fly from cages in her thoughts, only to be shot open or run into windows or bled from an arrow. She would awake to the soft brush of feathers on her arms, against her body, and find nothing there. She would lie in her bed and watch the ceiling of her small domed room, reminded of the constant destruction of the whole. She still couldn't understand why everything inevitably fell to earth, why everything died, why contractors were unavoidably pulled into this place to meet with her.

She feared sleep; she feared what she saw on Earth more.

Sleep was always a maze of shadows, and she would find herself chasing the distant laughter of Jack Vessalius. She could never hold him, could never touch him. She was constantly distanced from him. She would watch him often, in her mirror—it showed everything and nothing: humanity's race to destroy itself, the way ants struggled over hills for food, the song of whales in the sea. She was always watching people, always watching Jack. She pressed herself to the cold-water glass to be near him, willed it to vanish into mist, but it remained solid, substantial, even when she beat her fists into it. It would simply quiver and stand there.

She had found that humanity was all the same—there was no glorious answer to being human, no bliss or freedom or understanding in the Earth, yet she wanted nothing more than to breathe that world in and comprehend why it was that humans were alive. She had seen every walk of death—world wars rose and died in beautifully ashen mushroom clouds, men killed each other, women died for love or revenge or pain.

Sometimes, she would find Jack younger, sweeter, when she moved forward in time. She found it strange, and she concluded that perhaps he had been revived or reborn. He was always with her sister, and with a tall, brooding man of dark hair and strange, sad eyes. She watched as Alice, Jack, and the man grew close, close, closer still, until she couldn't distinguish one from the other. This was what she wanted the most, to have what her sister could, to contain another heart that beat the same as hers. She despised and loved Alice, who was everything she wanted to be and stole everything she desired.

Sometimes, she would watch Glen. She found him fascinating and tragic and desperate, a reflection of herself. As time marched forward, Glen changed, was revived into another boy who was somehow more vulnerable, more lost, than his predecessor. She knew he missed the boy who was always with him, a light of stubborn purity and blond hair and ice blue eyes. Glen's new vessel wore spectacles until his precious person had died, and sometime after, she watched him find them once again, filed away in a drawer. The lenses had cracked, spidery veins rending the glass in pieces, yet miraculously, it held.

Glass cracked, doves died, the shadowed laughter of the person she loved the most led her nowhere. She would feel angry and lost and lonely, and she wouldn't know why it was she who had been born under this darkness. Hopeless little girl, sad little girl, she would wonder why everything she touched died, why the wishes she granted caused grief, why she loved the sight of blood and the terror of broken humans. She hated herself, hated, hated, hated—it would all seep into her skin and sit under it, and there were times when she felt venomous, destructive—like she was worth nothing.

She feared loneliness the most.

It was all she had ever known.


	3. Chapter 1: Tags and Kisses

**Disclaimer:** All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

_Victimes de Nous-mêmes _story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.

* * *

**A/N:** And thus begins the story for reals~! This is the start of the first arc, which will be seven chapters long. This arc also contains NC17 and malexmale content, as this was originally a kink meme fill, so read at your own risk.

Also, remember that updates for this fic run on art contributions. Therefore, if you're interested in drawing for the next few chapters, shoot me a PM with samples of your work. You will get to read chapters early, and have your art featured with a chapter release. :D

As always, enjoy!

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**FST:** _Teenage Dream_ Katy Perry & the Warblers

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_**Arc I: **__**Les Bienheureux**_

**Chapter 1:**** Tags and Kisses**

Oz's eyes held the inexplicable and perfect ability to clutch people. If one leaned in close, they would find all that green was made up of a million stars, the rotation of planets, the rhythm of life. It was sometimes easy to forget that Oz was only fifteen, when words much older than he should know dripped from his mouth, and when he fixed Gil or Alice with a stare like that. Neither ever dreamed he could steal breath or dictate their wills with a simple look, and he remained oblivious that he held rapture in his eyes. But it was in him that the universe seemed perfectly ordered. Only Oz could calm Gil, or tell Alice to stop yelling. He was truly unaware of how centered he was in their worlds, and of the magnetism he held over them.

So still, he was his cheery, smiling self on that lazy Sunday. It was raining outside, and the Rainsworth mansion felt too quiet. It was three weeks after Elliot Nightray's death, and things had died down. Pandora had recently planned a trip to Reveille, but it had been canceled in light of everyone's grief. Oz was reading some obscure English poet, Gilbert was cleaning his gun, Alice was listlessly poking at the fire. The thunder of rain beat a tattoo into their ears, and it felt easy to slip off to sleep.

"I'm booooored," Alice's voice cut across the sound of rain, and Oz looked up.

"You're bored?"

"Yeah. I wanna go outside and play."

"It's raining, you'll catch a cold." Though, could Chains catch colds?

"I don't care."

"You could get struck by lightning."

Alice scowled and flipped onto her stomach. "But you said lightning strikes the tallest thing. So it would be Seaweed Head."

Oz busted up laughing, as Gil shot Alice a glare. "That's not funny."

"Pfftahahah, I think it is~" Oz marked his book and closed it. "We could play a game. Would that please Alice?"

"Yes!" Alice pushed herself up to kneel on the couch. "Outside?"

"No. Inside. There's all sorts we could play, though. Like indoor tag, or hide-and-seek."

"Ohh, what's indoor tag?"

"One person is 'It.' Whomever It touches becomes It, and you have to run away from them. No one wants to be It. Various objects are declared safe, which you may touch for twenty seconds to rest."

Alice bounced up and down on the couch, excited over the idea. Gil rolled his eyes. "Should we really be encouraging her? She might wreck the house . . ."

"I choose Indoor Tag!"

"Okay, not It!"

"Not It!"

Gil looked between the two of them, as they both watched him expectantly. "Seriously? Ugh, fine."

Oz jumped up, and dashed over to Alice, grabbing her hand. "Let's go, let's go!"

She leapt up after him, and they dashed off, holding hands. Gil heard the thump of their feet pause at the door, and the Pandora agent looked up from cleaning his gun to find them waiting for him. He sighed, put his gun back together, capped the gun oil, and cleaned off his hands. He was finished anyhow. Though quite honestly, he wasn't up for chasing around two much smaller, faster people for the rest of the afternoon, either.

As soon as Gil got up, Oz darted off with Alice, giggling madly. Did he really have to? Well, it was what his master wanted. Gil jogged after them half-heartedly. They were stopped halfway down the hall, and Alice squealed and pushed Oz to go as soon as they saw him coming. Oz stuck out his tongue, before yanking Alice down the corridor and around the corner.

"Come and get us!"

"I'm coming . . ."

"C'mon! Where's your sense of competition? Gil will regret it if he doesn't get his head in the game~"

The servant could see Oz's evil smile simply from his voice, which promised many punishments of many ills, most of which probably involved cats, Alice, or both. Gil crouched low, suddenly, and stealthily crept up to the wall, listening to their giggling and snickers. He waited a moment, before he sprang out. Oz and Alice both shrieked and sprinted away. Gil gave them a headstart, and chased after them, turning and twisting through the labyrinth of corridors that formed the Rainsworth mansion.

It was kind of fun, almost thrilling, to chase them. He knew Oz would tire soon, and then it'd be easy to catch him. Inevitably, Oz stopped before a set of curtains, and touched them. "SAFE!" Alice imitated him. Gil jogged up, hovering a few feet away for when their twenty seconds were up and they had to run again. He could see Oz's lips forming the words of numbers, counting _one Vessalius, two Vessalius_. They'd played these same games all the time when he was a child, and found he was having a rush of nostalgia. He almost expected a six-year-old Ada to come tottering around the corner, asking her brother if she could play too, and no tagbacks, kay?

Their twenty seconds expired, and Alice dragged Oz off this time, who lagged behind, gasping. That boy really needed to exercise more, Gil thought, as he ran madly after them once again. Oz eventually stumbled, and Alice stopped. The servant took the opportunity to catch up, reach over, grab Oz around the middle. He yelled and squirmed, as the blond fell back against his chest. Gil chuckled, as Oz moaned and went limp. He'd worn himself out, Gil hoped.

Oz shifted around to stare up at his servant. Gil made to step away, but a smaller hand closed around his wrist, pulling, pulling. He stepped closer, as Oz turned fully around. Gil's lips parted; he wanted to say something, but it was somehow hard to speak. Oz was It, wasn't he? He should be chasing Gil and Alice, by now. But instead, the boy is watching Gil with some strange intensity, those huge green eyes filled with something he wasn't quite sure he wanted to understand. It promised, it excited, it forbade. Slowly, hypnotically, the older man found his hand raised to contact Oz's cheekbone . . .

"Hey! Are we gonna play, or what?"

Oz flinched, looked over his shoulder at Alice. And just like that he was vanished from Gil's arms, and the hand was left to lean against air instead. Alice shrieked again, and he looked up to see Oz chasing her down. The moment was a dream, now. Just a memory. He wasn't quite sure it even happened. There was more yelling, and Gil jogged after to find Oz chasing Alice in circles, gasping, struggling for air. He likely had a cramp, as he was clutching his ribs. Eventually he gave up and sat down, waving a hand vaguely in the air to tell Alice it was a timeout.

Gil approached him. "You tired already?"

"Haven't . . . been running . . . as much . . ." Oz swallowed, flopped back against the floor. His head cracked against the tile and Gil gasped in sympathy pain. Oz seemed fine, however—God knew the boy had a hard, thick skull.

Alice bent over him. "You're not dying, are you?"

Oz laughed weakly. "No. Just out of shape . . ."

"Good. Because Oz isn't allowed to die yet. You still need to be my manservant."

"Yes, ma'am."

Alice flopped down beside him, as Gil stopped before them. "Are we still playing tag?"

"Dunno," Oz looked at Alice, his breathing steadier. "What does Alice think?"

Alice tilted her head, as if considering her options. "Alice wants to know . . . why you both stopped and did that in the hallway."

"Did what?" Gil sat down on Oz's far side, observing the rise, the fall, of his thin chest.

"The staring thing. It was . . . really weird."

Gil froze, his eyes moving to Oz's face. His expression was unreadable, and he sat up, rubbing the back of his head where it'd hit the floor. He dropped his hand against the floor, the smack filling their small space in the large corridor. He looked at Gil once again. The servant felt suddenly self-conscious, as the boy watched him. Once again, he wanted to say something, but no words would come. There was some sort of sensation in his chest—it was tight, fluttery, powerful, all at once. He wasn't sure what to make of it, why Oz was inducing this feeling.

"I think it's because Gil and I have something. Alice and I do too. All of us have something."

Alice leaned over, glanced between them, but Oz's stare did not waver. "What is it?"

"It's very hard to describe." Oz suddenly shifted closer, and Alice sat back, observing.

"Oz? W—what are you doing?" Gil scooted back, but again a small hand grabbed his wrist. Gil could easily break the grip, but he found he didn't want to. The teenager moved close, closer still. There was something about his presence that felt different, like one body was attuned to the other, meant to harmonize. The hair on his body all stood, he had goosebumps, his breathing was matched to Oz's. Slowly, he raised a hand once again, and this time eased it over Oz's cheek, down to his chin, listening to the rustle of skin-on-skin. Yes, something. It was most definitely something.

Oz exhaled. He was still traveling nearer, and Gil took a deep breath as Oz clambered into his lap, and settled there. His hands came to rest on Gil's shoulders, and the servant realized their faces were only inches apart, and still Oz moved forward—he eventually stopped when their noses brushed. Each could taste the other's breath, feel the contour of muscle, bone, sinew underneath clothes, bodies pressed together. And Gil was staring directly into Oz's powerful eyes, tracing the maze of veins in his irises, and wondering at all the galaxies he saw, that brilliant shade of green.

This boy was so very vibrant. He was all the colors of the sun, of living, growing things, with his corn silk hair and solemn eyes. Gil cupped Oz's cheek softly, leaned in, closed the gap. Oz gasped softly, and his eyes fluttered closed, long fair lashes brushing Gil's cheeks. Gil's eyes followed, and he gasped as their lips brushed, felt out each other. The touches were feather light, but Oz was shaking, and he eventually drew back.

" . . . is that the something?" Alice asked.

Oz blinked and started, as though realizing she were there. "Y—yes. That's the something."

"And we have it too?"

"Yes. You and I have it too."

"How come . . . how come it's with both of us?"

"I'm not quite sure. But you and Gil could have it, too."

"No way!" Alice huffed, as Gil spluttered.

"Then . . . you two need to be willing to share."

"Wh—what. Whoa, whoa. Hold on." Gil's face tightened. "You're only fifteen."

"Physically."

"Emotionally and mentally too."

"So?"

"So . . . I'm not okay with this."

Oz sat back, his eyes narrowed. It was the expression Oz always gave him when Gil did something wrong by his master. He bit his lip guiltily, and found he couldn't make eye contact. A slender, cool hand was in his own, suddenly, lacing fingers with his. Oz's hands were always cold—he had poor circulation. Gilbert looked up, again, to that same stern look. Oz leaned in again, and his eyes altered as he did so—that intense feeling swelled in Gil's heart, and realized age shouldn't matter. Because here was this person, who held him enraptured and attentive. If asked, he would follow Oz through hell and back, without question, without complaint.

To Gil, who could see the entirety of living in his master's eyes, he need not ask if it was permissible to hold Oz close, need not fear if repercussion of their relationship would become apocalyptic. Even if he had to share Oz with Alice, allow his master to slip away, Gil would never go against this boy's wishes. Because there was something between them that was too perfect, too whole, and too irreplaceable to pass up. People only found something like this once, and his master was offering him the lucky chance to find it twice—in Oz, in Alice. Gilbert looked up, between the two of them.

"This is called love, Alice."

Oz's lips parted in response to this, and his breathing deepened. He was startled, here in Gil's lap, to hear those words thrown about so casually. Alice was watching Gil, and her violet eyes were soft, curious, and bright. Oz watched as she scooted her petite body forward, her eyes switching to Oz's face. He offered her a slight smile, as she narrowed her eyes and sized up his face, leaning forward until she could see Oz's individual eyelashes and the small smattering of freckles on his nose.

"What's love?"

The question hung on the air, and Oz sucked in a mouthful of air. He wasn't sure what to say, and he found he was still stumbling over the fact that Gil had even introduced the concept. He knew he was in love with them both, but the way his servant had stated it—as though the three of them would become inevitable. Alice was leaning towards him, and he found himself drawn in. Eyes slipped close easily, and he was kissing her slowly, gently, more deeply that Gil had kissed him. She was instinctive and intuitive, sucking on his lip in a way that drove him mad.

"Mmm . . ." She at last drew back, and studied his face. "Was that good?" She looked unsure of herself, the cute little rabbit he adored.

"Yes~!" He beamed, leaned forward, kissed her again. It was hotter, heavier, more complex. His hands had somehow tangled in her hair, and their breathing was heavy. She was moving closer to him, and suddenly Alice was in _his_ lap. He heard Gil grunt under the added weight, and Alice shifted back once again, her face flushed, her eyes a bit crossed. Oz smiled.

"I think we should get back to my rooms."

"You two need to move, then." Gil said.

Oz shifted Alice off, easily lifting her by the hips and moving her away. He stood, and stretched, stiff from flopping about on the floor and running around. As Gil stood, the Chain caught his hand, and his face was startled as he was pulled down to kiss her. Oz giggled at Gil's red face, and he was glad to see Alice accepting this idea. Their kiss was a bit rough, competitive—so very like his dear Gil and Alice.

"C'mon, let's go!"

Oz poked them in the ribs, and they broke apart, looking irritable at being interrupted. He simply smiled, turned around and took each of their hands, pulling them back down the hall. The tile clacked against their shoes, the empty echo resounding above the bass roar of the storm outside. They got into the sitting room, and Oz shut and locked the door. Gil swallowed audibly, and Oz smiled at him gently. Things were going to be interesting.

Alice had taken a seat on the couch, and Oz joined her, drawing close. She blinked at him for a moment, before she leaned forward and kissed him again. Oz moaned, his hands automatically resting on her hips. He felt the couch shift as Gil sat down behind him, and his large hands snaked down Oz's back, rubbing his thin, sharp shoulder blades gently. Oz emitted a small, happy sound, and drew back.

"Er, Gil. We need to explain things to Alice."

"What?" Gil leaned forward, resting his chin on Oz's shoulder to better hear.

The teenager's face burned. "About—about . . . reproduction."

Gil blanched. "Wh—why would we need to explain that?"

"What's reproduction?" Alice interjected.

"Because . . . I . . . I want . . ." Gil was sure that shade of red was impossible, but Oz managed it.

"Oz! You're fifteen! Alice isn't even at the age of consent!"

"She's a Chain, Gil, God only knows how old she is."

"Well—she—you—mmf . . ." Gil was promptly kissed silly by his precocious master. It was warm, open-mouthed, their tongues sliding against each other, and Oz shivered as he was French kissed for the first time, his hands tightening into fists. Gil was clearly more experienced, and he wondered what could have happened during those ten years. Though, he really liked this kissing-from-behind thing. Very much. He drew back, to find Gil was dazed.

"Stop thinking! You think too much."

"You never think!"

"Are you boys gonna answer my question?" Alice shouted.

They looked up, and she glared at them. Oz sighed, his face still red. "Well . . . it's like . . . well . . . do you know where babies come from?"

Alice tilted her head, curious. "A mother? That maid Sarah is gonna have a baby."

"Well, yes. But the baby has to get there in the first place."

"Oh . . . how does the baby get there?"

Oz turned a bright shade of red. "W—well . . ."

"Well?"

"Well . . . you know people get married and stuff?"

"Yeah."

"Well . . . it has to do with love, right? And making babies is part of it."

"Oh . . . so if you're in love you have a baby?" She poked at her stomach, as though she expected a baby bump to suddenly appear there.

"Haha, no. You . . . you have to . . . do something."

She looked up again. "Why does Oz keep blushing?"

Oz hid his face in his hands. "Take it away, Gil."

"M—me?"

Alice stared at him expectantly.

"O—okay. So um . . . men and women look different, right? Well, er . . . it's like . . . a woman has an egg, and the man has the seed. And . . . um . . . the man has to fertilize the egg and it makes a baby."

"Ooooh. Cool!" Alice smiled, then frowned. "But how does the seed get to the egg?"

Oz looked up. "Um . . ." He hesitated, before he made a fist with his right hand, and stuck the index finger of his left inside the fist. Alice observed the gesture for a second, before she imitated it. Oz heard Gil smack himself in the forehead.

"Really, Oz?"

Oz blushed. "Shut up! I'm not describing it!"

Gil groaned, and pulled Oz's hands apart and settled them in the boy's lap, lacing his fingers with his master's. "They have something called . . . er . . . sexual intercourse."

"I see," Alice nodded. "What is it?"

"It's . . . um . . ." Gil turned red this time, realizing why Oz used a gesture to describe it instead. "W—well . . . men and women are built differently."

Alice nodded, "I know. I'm all curvy and soft, but you and Oz are all triangular and hard and I like it."

Oz smiled, and Gil blushed. "Yes. Well . . . er . . . well, sex is something very important and special. It's like . . . giving yourself completely to another person. You shouldn't just do it with anyone."

Alice nodded. "Can I do it with you and Oz? Because Oz said you and I should be in love, too."

"Um—"

There was a soft intake of breath, and Oz shifted. "I don't understand."

"What do you mean?" Gil asked.

"How can you just . . . suddenly decide that, because I said it? It was just a suggestion. You two can just share me if you wa—"

"Anything for you," Gil cut in, and smiled, stroking Oz's hair. "We'll do anything for you, Oz."

Alice nodded, her face adorable and soft. "I need to take care of my manservant. I want him to be happy."

"But—but—" Oz was having a problem with understanding this. "I didn't . . . you two don't like each other. I mean I know you both kissed, but that was sort of . . . I dunno."

"Silly Oz," Alice leaned forward, her face serious. "Just accept it."

Gil kissed his master on the cheek. "You have a power over us, you know. We can't say no to you."

Oz blinked, processing this new information. "Really?"

"Yes."

"I see." He blinked again, before a slow smile spread across his face. "So you two will do aaaaaanything for me~?"

Gil gulped, as this was Oz's I'm-about-to-make-you-uncomfortable voice. "Probably."

"Well, then. I think I want to—to—go through. With this. All the way." He was red again, suddenly shy. Gil smiled—he liked this side of Oz, who was innocent and embarrassed and so very pliant under his hands. For once, he would teach his master something.

"Alright." Gil's hand traveled down Oz's scalp, to his neck, lazily tracing his nail down the boy's spine. Oz shivered, and made to turn around.

"How do we do this?" Alice asked.

"I don't know." Oz was shifting in Gil's lap, and he eventually settled down, his legs straddling the gunman's hips. "How much experience does Gil have?" Oz leaned in. "Have you been with others?"

Gil bit his lip—he didn't want Oz to feel hurt. "I have been, yes. But none of it meant anything. I was just lonely."

Oz nodded, and smiled, but it was sad. "That's okay."

"Oz . . ." Gil sighed, and ran the pads of his fingers down Oz's face, reveling in the flawless skin. "Don't pretend. Please. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it. But I . . . I've always loved you."

Oz inhaled, the whisper of his breath barely audible, and he closed his eyes. "I love you, too." He smiled, genuine, now. "Ever since we were young . . ."

"Really?"

"Yes. I think I was only thirteen when I realized . . ."

"I see."

"And Alice," Oz drew back, to look around at her, "I love you!"

She blushed, and her mouth twitched into a smile, and then she frowned, and then smiled. "Same. And Raven."

"Yeah," Gil smiled. "Love you, Stupid Rabbit."

"So. Are we doing this, or what?" Oz asked.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"One hundred percent?"

"Yes, Goddammit, let's move to my bedroom!"

Gil chuckled, and kissed Oz sweetly. "Alright."

He released the boy, and Oz stood slowly, his thin frame unfolding before Gil in a way that made the gunman's imagination travel to rather naughty places. He stood as well, and helped Alice up, who accepted it grudgingly. Oz beamed, and turned around, walking forward with his hands behind his back, as was his habit. He opened the door to his bedroom, looked over his shoulder at his two loves, and stepped across the threshold.

He would love them. Always.


	4. Chapter 2: Can't Read My

**Disclaimer:** All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

_Victimes de Nous-mêmes _story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.

* * *

**A/N:** The M rating is about to be justified (remember this was originally a kink meme fill, haha). So read at your own risk, hurr~

* * *

**FST:** _Poker Face (Piano Version)_ Lady Gaga

* * *

**Chapter 2:**** Can't Read My . . .**

Oz sat down on the bed, and he heard Gil shut the door as he and Alice entered. The young heir was nervous—he was sitting with his back to them, and he tempered his breathing, deep breaths trying to calm himself. He listened to their footsteps as they approached, and the bed shifted under a light, then a heavy weight. Oz looked over his shoulder, and watched as Gil sat down, once again behind him. This seemed to be developing into some sort of strange kink.

Alice crawled around, to Oz's front, and settled in before him. She leaned in and kissed him slowly, this time her tongue sliding into his mouth. Oz moaned, kissed back, and he felt Gil's hands once again on his back, at his waist. He drew away, and leaned back into Gil. He tilted his head, his large green eyes staring up at the gunman appealingly. Gil smiled down at him, and stroked his hair.

"Ready?"

Oz blushed, and nodded, butterflies flurrying in his stomach. "Just nervous," he admitted.

"Haha, me too, to be honest."

"I'm not nervous. You two are silly," Alice stated. "So, what do we do, now?"

"Hrrmmm . . ." Gil seemed to consider this—he was taking full advantage of Oz's lack of knowledge. "We could make Oz feel good."

Oz's flush deepened, and Alice nodded. "Okay. How?"

Gil hummed in idle thought, and his hands snaked around to Oz's front, softly pulling him into the larger man's lap. He leaned past Oz's shoulder, and the boy watched as Gil whispered something to Alice. He wasn't sure he liked this—two against one wasn't exactly fair. Alice nodded, to whatever Gil was telling her, before a rather evil smile spread across her face. She looked at Oz, who opened his mouth to demand what they were planning, but she kissed him.

It was rougher than before, much like she had kissed Gil earlier, and Oz found his brain turning to putty. He moaned, kissed back, reveling in the way her hands were on his, pulling on them. In fact, she was picking his hands up and putting them—putting—her curves—Oz tried to pull his hands away, but her grip was firm, as she guided him to the soft contours of her body. He couldn't think, couldn't—Oz didn't realize Gil had been messing with the front of his shorts until he felt the release of pressure as the button was popped and his zipper was pulled down.

"Gil!" He tried to struggle, but Gil simply kissed the side of his face.

"Calm down." His voice was low, soothing, and it rumbled against Oz's back. "You said you were ready."

"I—I am. You and Alice are just—"

Gil chuckled. "You can't handle being powerless for five minutes?"

"No!"

"Not even if it feels good?"

Oz opened his mouth to disagree, but the words were promptly mashed from his psyche when Gil's hand skillfully pressed between Oz's legs. He gasped, and found his body going limp. He could literally feel Gil's stupid little smirk against his neck as the elder man slipped his hand under the material, his fingers gentle against Oz's virgin skin. The young heir arched his back, as Gil's fingertips left hot trails down his member and along his pubic region. His breathing deepened, quickened, as Gil at last wrapped his hand around and squeezed. Oz jumped.

"Nnn! Giiiil!"

"You like that?" He murmured, pumping Oz to a slow, steady rhythm.

"Yes! Nnnaaaahhhhh . . ."

Alice was kissing him again, her hands guiding his to her chest. He wanted to pull his hands back and he didn't, his upbringing conflicting with hormones. The hormones won when Alice moaned and Gil performed a particularly sharp tug on his member, and Oz had dissolved into putty once more. His kisses with Alice were sloppy, openmouthed and desperate and perfect. He realized his body was rocking in time to Gil's hand, and he wondered how long he'd been doing that. Alice's body was soft beneath his hands, and he squeezed and kneaded her chest eagerly, earning more moans and kisses from the little rabbit.

Gil was suddenly taken to nipping at Oz's neck, which made his skin tingle in a most pleasant way. He was kneading Oz's member, now, pumping harder, faster. Oz arched his back, as he reveled in Gil's rough palm against his flesh, sliding up, down, up, down—God that felt fucking _good_. He and Alice were emitting embarrassing noises, by now, though Oz's cries far drowned hers. Gil wasn't surprised; Oz had always been talkative and bubbly, so it was fitting that his master was vocal.

"Giiil! Uuuhhhnn . . . G—Gil! A—ah! Nnn! NnnaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

Oz's entire body tensed, his back arched, his hands nearly crushed Alice's breasts, and he felt his body release, the hot liquid of his bodily fluid flooding over Gil's hand. He relaxed into the blissful dizziness, watching as the room seemed brighter than usual as he opened his eyes, to take in a very sexy, bothered Alice straddling his legs. Gil was kissing the side of his face, again. Oz sighed, as the last of the orgasm wore off, before he turned red, and hid his face in his hands.

"You okay?" Gil asked.

"'S so embarrassing . . ."

"Haha, it's sexy and cute." Gil assured, withdrawing his hand from out of Oz's shorts. Oz emitted a small sound, as Alice poked him in the stomach and grabbed his hands, placing them once again on her chest. He blushed, but continued his ministrations, kissing her softly and lazily.

"This is very disorganized," Oz said between kisses.

"Sex is generally so, from my experience," Gil said.

"Well . . . but there's three of us. Nnn . . ." He tilted his head as Alice suddenly decided it was a good time to give his neck a hickey. He slid his hands up under her coat, which didn't work too well, so he simply began unbuttoning it. "What if we took turns?"

"Turns?" Alice asked. "Like you and I do the sex thingy, a—and . . . you and Gil, and . . . me and Gil?" She asked, as she slid her jacket off, and began unbuttoning her dress shirt.

"Sure."

"Okay . . ."

Oz had discovered the wonderful invention of a bra that unfastened in the front, and deftly undid it. Alice efficiently did away with her garments, and Oz blushed and tried not to stare too much, but found it was hard not to. Gil was watching her, too, as she leaned towards Oz again and kissed him. He moaned, and squeezed her chest again. Her skin was so soft under his, and he loved the way her body was supple and feminine and the fact that her flush spread down across her breasts.

"You get to choose who you go first with, Oz." Gil murmured.

Oz drew back from Alice slightly, and slid his hands up from her chest to her face, cupping it gently. He looked over his shoulder at Gil. "I suppose I get to pick who gets my virginity, huh? And so does Alice."

"What's virginity?"

"Er . . . it's like . . . your purity. Whoever has it should be a very special person."

"Then I'm giving it to you."

Oz smiled, and kissed her. "Alright. But I'd like to give mine to Gil. I hope you don't mind . . . he _is_ my first ever love."

Alice nodded, in understanding. "What do I do?"

"You can watch, I guess." Gil said, blushing at last.

Oz turned red—he hadn't considered the idea that this would involve display. "R—really?"

"Don't worry. You'll be fine," Gil assured.

Oz nodded, and separated himself from Alice. She pouted, but backed away nonetheless, and settled in for the show.

Gil smiled at Oz. "Ready?"

Oz beamed, and softly touched Gil's face. "As I'll ever be, _mon amour_."

Gil allowed himself a small smile at the title, and pulled gently on Oz's right shoulder with his left hand. The young man took a moment to comply, tucking his legs in, turning around to face Gil. His servant studied Oz's face, and brushed a few strands of fair soft hair back from his face. He noted that Oz's summer freckles he so loved were growing into prominence, and he leaned forward and gently kissed Oz on the nose. Oz blinked, his hands moving almost mechanically to cup Gil's face.

"What are you doing?"

"Your freckles are returning for the summer." Gil leaned back, and smiled.

Oz rolled his eyes self-consciously. "I've never liked them . . ."

"Whaaat. But they're adorable!"

Oz blushed. "Really?"

"Yes. I've always loved them." He leaned in and kissed Oz's fair skin again, moving down from nose to soft lips. Oz opened his mouth, and Gil surrendered, sliding his tongue inside with a low moan. Oz moaned back, his hand sliding back along Gil's cheekbones to his curly hair. The gunman relaxed as delicate fingers slid back over his scalp, and pulled Oz closer, into his lap. Oz drew away, and blinked up at his servant.

"You have more power over me, now," He pouted, forest-green eyes capturing Gil's.

"No, you do," he murmured. "You just need to look at me . . ." His master blinked at him, brows furrowing. Gil smiled, and stroked one of Oz's slender, wonderfully freckly cheekbones. "Those lovely eyes. You have no idea how much power you really have, do you?"

Oz processed this for a moment, then shook his head, that powerful green color still fixed on Gil's face. The servant watched him, hand still running down his cheek, rhythmic, soothing, familiar. Gil seemed to be awaiting an order—he was always waiting, eternally, for the next thing Oz would say, the next surprising skill or idea he would display. He was always, always waiting for the next smile, touch, and piece of laughter from this boy who was his entire world.

"I want . . . I want you to teach me." And Oz's face flared red again, and Gil chuckled.

"Teach you what?"

Oz blinked for a moment. "Everything."

It was a soft whisper, and the galaxies in Oz's eyes told Gil that 'everything' meant more than simple lovemaking. The servant nodded, slowly, and pushed Oz back into the bed until he straddled the teenager, who watched him with expectancy and rapture. Gil leaned down, and kissed him slowly, meaningfully—if ever there was someone who deserved pure, complete love, it was Oz. He speculated on the hours his master had spent wondering at the rejection of his father, the death of his mother, why someone like this little boy wasn't allowed to have a love so basic as that from his parents. So here, in this bed, he would smother that loss with hands on Oz's skin, unification of their flesh, soft words of assurance.

Oz would not feel empty within Gil's arms.


	5. Chapter 3: Fused

**Disclaimer:** All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

_Victimes de Nous-mêmes _story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.

* * *

**A/N:** We're three chapters in, and I only have two reviews. I am not the type of author to hold a chapter hostage for reviews or anything, but if you enjoyed this story or had thoughts on it I would like to hear about it. c: I always like to get feedback on my work. So . . . I would appreciate reviews!

Once again, the M rating is justified. Enjoy~!

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******FST:** _I Will Follow You Into the Dark_ Death Cab for Cutie**  
**

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**Chapter 3:** **Fused**

Oz moaned softly, and Gil kissed him harder, before he drew away gently. His hands found Oz's tie and began fumbling with it. His master blushed again, before his hands moved to help Gil, and together they deftly unknotted it, and Gil smiled as he pulled it from around Oz's neck. His master was lovely, underneath him, fair hair falling into green eyes, pale skin flushed pink, lips parted in curiosity and fascination. Gil leaned down and kissed Oz again as he slid the grey vest off his shoulders, from under his back.

Oz's hands began struggling with Gil's cravat, and he leaned back. It appeared Oz couldn't figure it out, and Gil chuckled and helped him, never breaking their eye contact. The silk fell away easily, and Oz tossed it aside, on the growing pile of clothes beside his large bed. His slender hands ran down Gil's chest, memorizing muscle through the thin material of his dress shirt. Gil emitted a small sound, and began unbuttoning Oz's top. The teenager blushed again, despite the fact that it wasn't exactly a private part of his body. The way Gil was watching him made him positively squirm—his servant had already undressed Oz in his mind.

He pulled back the white fabric, and Oz was shy and he curled up slightly, self-conscious as Gil's hands ran down his skin. His hand paused over Oz's seal, his face falling as he pressed his palm into the boy's warm chest. The heartbeat was a strong _thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump_ under the black clock. He leaned down, and kissed Oz again, hand still pressed to his heart, and the gunman wondered how many more hours, days, weeks would tick away before there were no more.

Oz arched into him, and Gil pressed his hips down automatically. The kiss deepened, and his hands began to wander, down to Oz's waist, up his sides, back down to his hips. Oz's body was turning his mind hazy—it was all softly defined muscle, gently sloped curves, slender, perfect design. Oz's hands had begun to wander, as well—he had managed to open Gil's shirt, and his hands were exploring well-developed muscle, soft skin, the scar he had inflicted. He was curious, and his hands became braver, sliding around to Gil's back, traveling down, down, to his bottom. Gil gasped when Oz squeezed, and he opened his eyes to find his master smirking. That little—! He should have known the shyness wouldn't last.

"What is it?" Oz asked.

"You very well know," Gil narrowed his eyes. "You were putting on an act!"

Oz's mouth dropped open. "I—I was not!"

"You're suddenly confident."

"Because now I have a bit of knowledge~"

"You're evi—nnn!"

Oz smiled, as he relaxed his hold, then jammed Gil's hips once again into his pelvis. His body jolted with sensation, body electrifying at the contact. He was already becoming aroused once again, his young hormones lending him near-eternal reserves of energy. Gil flailed as Oz essentially took control, with each contact of their hips. Gil closed his eyes, and kissed Oz hard, pulling his hair gently, running fingers down his face. Oz moaned, and kissed back eagerly, his back arching into a lovely curve that only drove Gil madder.

"Want more?" Oz asked.

"Y—yes . . ."

He waited, expectant, but he was surprised when nothing came. He opened his eyes to find Oz's eyes on the button of his slacks, hands returned to press against his own chest. He seemed to be chalking up the courage to undress Gil the rest of the way. The servant smiled, and took Oz's wrists and pulled them away. The noble started, and glared, but Gil simply hummed cheerily and began to tug at Oz's already unbuttoned shorts. The teenager blushed, but pulled his legs up automatically, to withdraw his legs from the material. Gil pulled everything away and stared as Oz blushed and attempted to hide himself.

He caught the boy's hands and laid them flat against the bed, lacing their fingers. Oz's face rivaled a tomato, and Gil leaned down and kissed it away, until his master's body relaxed. He smiled as he drew away, and trailed kisses along Oz's slender neck, down his chest. His body was perfect, beautiful, all his and Alice's. Oz moaned and wriggled, in the most wonderful and enticing way. Gil pressed his hips hard into Oz's, causing him to gasp, before he guided his master's hands to his waistband. Oz chickened out and tried to pull his hand back, but Gil kept it there and began to guide his fingers in undoing the button. Oz hesitated, and then slowly assumed it on his own, face brilliant vermillion.

He kept his eyes fixed on Gil's face as he unraveled the mechanisms, and shimmied Gil's slacks down his legs. The servant stepped out of his clothes, before he gently lowered himself to Oz's body until warm skin touched. Oz's eyes widened, and Gil leaned close to him, lips parted as his breathing deepened with arousal. Oz arched his back again, the move instinctive, and closed his eyes as they molded together beautifully, perfect in unison. Oz moaned as skin slid over skin, and his body flushed, responding to the magnetism of one of his loves. Gil leaned down, and kissed Oz hard, hands moving down to squeeze his backside. Oz moaned loudly, and melted into him.

"Nnn, G—Gil! That feels . . ."

"Feels what?" He murmured against Oz's lips.

"W—wonderful . . ." Oz pushed his hips into Gil's, and arched his back as their members brushed. "M—more!"

"A—as you wish."

Gil drew back, and Oz's face fell, but he smiled in assurance, his eyes rising to Alice, who seemed to have been watching them with rapt fascination this whole time. He lifted a hand and waved it before her face, and she blinked, eyes refocusing properly. "Wh—what?"

"There should be oil of some sort in the bathroom. Could you grab it?"

She took a few moments to process what he'd said. "Why do you need that?"

Oz turned bright red under Gil again, and the servant sighed. "Just go get it."

She glared at Gil for a moment, before she moved to slide off the bed. Gil returned his attention to Oz as the light patter of her footsteps faded, and he leaned down and kissed his master again, softly. Oz responded, his back arching, slender legs wrapping around Gil's hips. He moaned and deepened the kiss, hips pressing forward into Oz's. Their skin whispered together, soft moans, gasps, kisses hanging in the air above them.

Soft footsteps told them Alice was returning, and Gil looked up just as she dropped a small bottle of massage oil next to Oz, who stared at it like it was some sort of dangerous weapon. Gil laughed, and ran his fingers softly down the boy's face until he relaxed, and the gunman picked it up with his free hand. He drew away, until he towered over Oz, whose brilliant green eyes slowly descended Gil's body until they stopped, and then took on the size of tea saucers. Gah, his master was so _cute_.

"Is . . ."

"Is what?"

"Is—is—" Oz was sure he was going to eventually pass out from the amount of blood flowing into his brain. "Is that . . . is that going to fit?"

"Er . . . we can make it fit?"

Oz emitted a small squeak, and nodded.

"It'll hurt a bit," Gil murmured, working the cork off the glass bottle, and then tipping it over his fingers. Oz watched warily, and Gil could visibly see his body tensing, in the stress of his abdomen and legs. "Relax." He leaned across and set the open bottle on the nightstand. "It'll hurt less."

"Th—that's not very assuring, Gil."

In answer, his servant reached down with his clean hand and stroked Oz's hair. "Close your eyes."

"What."

"Close your eyes."

"Bu—but—"

"The more you work yourself up, the more it'll hurt. It's like—like getting poked with a needle."

"Oh yes, because needles make me feel soooo endeared to you right now."

"Just close your eyes."

Gil leaned down closer. Oz watched him for a moment, before he allowed his eyelids to slip shut. He was still tense. "Take a deep breath." Oz listened to him, the sigh of his breath as he inhaled soothing against their ears. As Oz released it, Gil pressed his index finger to Oz's entrance and pushed in. Oz jumped and yelped, his muscles automatically tensing up again.

"Relax, relax. More deep breaths."

Oz whimpered, eyes still closed, but complied. It only ached a bit, but it felt strange and he didn't like it. He felt something soft against his lips, and kissed Gil back, muscle memory picking up the movements automatically. He felt Gil begin to move his finger within his body, and he tried not to shy away or withdraw. The ache increased, and he wriggled uncomfortably. Gil continued to kiss him, moving down to his cheek, his neck, and back up to his lips again. Oz could feel his muscles stretching, readjusting, and eventually relaxing. He eventually opened his eyes, and Gil drew away slightly.

"Good?" Gil asked.

"Well, it doesn't hurt anymore, but it still feels weird, and I don—AH!"

Gil smiled, and slid his finger back again, and pushed in. Oz's back arched, mouth parting in surprise. The ache had transformed into something gloriously positive and—and—hot and it felt most lovely when his servant did that. Oz emitted a low groan, and Gil struck up a slow, consistent pace. Oz promptly turned into jelly, hands scrambling at Gil's back, legs parting further, high tenor voice producing the most wonderful sounds. Gil leaned down, and kissed him again, and Oz's arms wrapped tightly around his neck, sharp little fingernails digging into his skin.

Gil paused for a moment, and added a second finger. Oz gasped—this time it hurt, badly. He buried his face in his love's shoulder, as Gil attempted to kiss his cheek from such an odd angle. Oz mumbled something about throbbing, as Gil scissored his fingers, trying to open his master wider. Oz whimpered again, and his servant frowned. He didn't like to see Oz in pain, but he knew it would be much worse if he didn't stretch Oz's muscles out first. It was a few minutes and a lot of scratches on his neck, but Oz's muscles eventually relaxed, and he was once again pliable with bliss in Gil's arms.

He added his ring finger.

"AH! G—Gil . . ."

Oz felt his eyes burn with tears from pain, and Gil nuzzled him, keeping his hand still. Oz tried not to move, for fear of increasing the sharp, fiery sting that wound up from his pelvis into his stomach and back. Gil gently stroked his hair back from his face, and kissed him on the forehead, simply watching his master. Oz was taking deep, slow breaths once again, trying to keep himself calm and force his body to unwind.

The muscles relaxed, and Gil opened his hand. Oz buried his face in his hands, and emitted a small, strangled sound. Dear God, Gil hoped he wasn't making Oz cry. His master appeared to be enduring it, however, and his resilient body appeared to be learning, readjusting faster than it had before. Oz eventually dropped his hands, his back arching, which Gil was quickly learning as a signal of Oz's complete pleasure. He wriggled his fingers, and slid them in and out, in and out. Oz's flesh felt superbly hot, tight, and slick around his hand, and he found himself mentally replacing it with his own member.

"Giiiil! Nnnnnn . . . aaaah! AAHH! Th—that feels so—uuuuhhn . . ."

Gil withdrew his hand, rather reluctantly, and Oz pouted, legs relaxing and then squeezing together. Gil grabbed Oz's knees and pulled them apart again, before he leaned down, hands sliding up until they rested on either side of Oz's head. The boy watched as Gil sank down on his elbows, and formed something of a triangle with his forearms above Oz's head. He kissed his master gently, and pressed himself to his entrance. He felt Oz jerk slightly.

"You ready?" Gil asked.

Oz nodded, eyes hazy but apprehensive of more pain. Gil leaned down, and kissed him again, and slowly, slowly, pushed inside. Oz hissed, and closed his eyes, but he was surprised to find it didn't hurt quite as much as he thought it would—all the prepping Gil had done had paid off. He opened his eyes, lips parted as he realized Gil was within him, their flesh was fusing into each other, and his breath quickened at the thought.

He looked up at Gil, and slowly nodded. "More."

Gil complied, sliding in the rest of the way, mind going numb at the sheer ecstasy of being inside Oz. The hot muscles hugged every curve and dip, and everything was slippery from the oil. Oz was whimpering again, and the servant kissed him, hard, trying to keep control of himself. Oz kissed back, and wriggled his hips, and it took Gil a moment to realize Oz was whimpering from lack of movement, not pain.

Gil slowly slid out, and both boys shivered with tingles and pleasure, before he thrust back in, deep.

"GIL! G—God . . . uaaaaah! AAHHNN!"

Oz dug at Gil's back, body gyrating in time to Gil's thrusts, which quickly spun out of control. Between the sensation of Oz's body around his own and his lovely, aroused voice, he found he was unable to help himself. Oz was already dizzy with pleasure, each thrust spinning his balance and causing his body to tense and shiver. Heat pooled on his insides and crawled up his inner walls and his member, pleasure and some pleasant ache building in pressure. There was a certain spot Gil kept hitting that made his vision go white every time, and the small part of his brain that could still form proper thoughts beyond ecstatic swear words reasoned that this was the male g-spot, the prostate.

Gil increased the pace, pounding faster, faster, and harder, until Oz's voice was drowning his low groans and gasps, and they were both slippery with sweat and their limbs were aching from physical effort. Gil drew back for more leverage, his hand sliding down Oz's sides to grab his hips. He arched low over his master, and plunged in as fast and deep as he could, until his ears buzzed and he wasn't breathing anymore.

"Oz, _Oz, Oz, _OZ, AH!"

"GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIL AAAAAHHHHHHH!"

They orgasmed together, bodies tensing, throats rubbed raw. Oz inhaled wildly and his vision went black for a moment, before his brain recovered and he flopped back against his comforter, sucking in giant clumps of air. Gil was laying over him, still encased inside, though he no longer filled Oz. The young Vessalius blinked, and tried to lift an arm to stroke Gil's hair, but he was too tired. Gil scooted himself up, which was made easy by their wet skin, and kissed Oz gently, his breath fluttering his master's bangs with each strong exhale. They stayed that way for a bit, before their heart rates and limbs recovered, and Gil was able to pull out and push himself off of Oz.

The boy grimaced, and stared down at his own seed, mixed with sweat all over his stomach. "We're all sticky."

Gil emitted a half laugh, which was rather painful, and snuggled close to his master, who leaned into him automatically. He wrapped his arms around the smaller body and pulled him close. "We can take a shower later."

"Yes. We should clean up for Alice . . ."

"Oh . . . right."

They had both sort of forgotten about her . . . they both looked up. Alice was sitting in the same position as before, her face flushed, chest heaving. Oz bit his lip, and he heard Gil emit a small noise.

"Er . . . what did Alice think?" Oz asked.

Alice blinked, and leaned in closer to them, her chest squeezing together appealingly. "Can . . . can I make Oz scream like that?"

Gil smiled. "S—sure . . . a—anytime."

She closed the gap, and kissed Oz. He kissed back, then drew away. "Gimme a few first, though. I can't . . . I don't think I can even sit up right now. And I at least need to rinse off in the shower . . ." Alice nodded, and laid down next to him and snuggled close. "Ah, Alice, I'm all—" Too late, she was cuddling with him, bodily fluids and all. Oz sighed, and rolled his eyes, and began to stroke her long, silky hair, which he had always been fascinated with.

"Mmm, sleep sounds good right now," Gil murmured.

"Don't sleep, you need to watch Oz and I."

"I don't _need_ to watch. And I probably couldn't sleep with Oz's shouts anyway. We're lucky the whole mansion didn't hear you."

Oz turned red again. "S—sorry. I can't help it."

"I know. I like it. It's . . . well, I'm going to dream about it and wake up and pounce you."

Oz laughed. "I see."

"I might, too," Alice decided. "It's distracting."

"Oh, really~?" Oz smiled sadistically.

"Alice, don't give him psychological weapons, it's not wise."

"What are psychological weapons?"

"Maybe I should 'distract' Gil at the next Pandora meeting~"

Gil headdesked into the nearest pillow. "Urrrghhh, why does God do this to meeee."


	6. Chapter 4: Dominance

**Disclaimer:** All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

_Victimes de Nous-mêmes _story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.

* * *

******FST:** _Save Me_ Morandi & Helena**  
**

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**Chapter 4:**** Dominance**

Oz untangled himself from among them, a few minutes later, and stepped into the bathroom to rinse off. Gil had indeed fallen asleep, but he doubted Alice would allow him to stay so for long. He glanced at himself in the mirror, to find his golden-spun hair was sticking up wildly, his face still flushed. He was still sticky with bodily fluids, and he probably smelled like musk. He turned the taps on, wondering on this new paradigm. Him, Alice, Gil.

He stepped under the warm spray of the shower, and closed his eyes as everything rinsed off. He was warm, happy, and pleased, but he wondered how long the calm would last. His mind went back to that day, when his uncle had declared him his adopted son, and they had taken that group photograph, not five days before Elliot . . . God, he missed Elliot. He rested his hands against the tile wall, his fingers curled, and he wondered where Leo was and what he was doing.

A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. "You coming?"

Oz looked up. "Yes, Alice. Soon."

"Hurry up. Stupid Seaweed Head fell asleep and I'm . . . er . . . I wanna try."

Oz smiled. "I'll be out in a moment." He finished rinsing off, and shut the water down. He stepped out and grabbed a towel, before he opened the door as he began to dry his hair. Alice blinked at him, her eyes automatically sliding down his body. He giggled, as he wrapped the towel around his shoulders. "Like what you see~?"

Alice scowled at him and blushed. "I guess."

"You guess?"

"C'mon." She beckoned to the bed.

Oz followed her to it, drying himself off as he walked. His skin was warm from the water, and his hair was damp, as they climbed in beside the sleeping Gil, and she snuggled close to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her close, nuzzling her silky hair. She giggled and sighed, before her little hands moved to his hips. Oz drew back to look at her, as she pressed her palms into the V where his legs met his torso.

"What are you doing?"

"Raven told me to try some things. And I watched you two."

"Did he, now? What did he say?"

Alice offered him a secretive smile, as her soft hands slid down his pubic area and he felt his skin tingle. He bit his lip, arms tightening around her, as little fingers massaged small circles into the bone and skin. He pressed his hips upward, hoping for more, but she pushed back, and shifted her weight so she was holding him down. Oz opened his mouth to protest, but she simply climbed into his lap, and settled down against him, legs squeezing around his.

Their bodies melded together perfectly, and he found it was fascinating, how his body fit into hers as well as it had with Gil's. His hands moved around to her cheeks, and he cupped her face and kissed her. She kissed back, hard, and her small hands returned to his hips, and slid in, in, in, and wrapped around his heat. He moaned, as she pulled experimentally, as Gil had done earlier. He could feel her smile against his lips, and he was suddenly being pushed back, back. Oz wrapped his arms around her, as her hands left his member and her hips pushed into him. He arched his back, and made to move with her, but she suddenly pulled away.

"Alice, what're yo—"

He broke off as she hoisted herself on her knees, and began to shimmy her skirt down her hips. He blushed—he seemed to be doing that a lot, lately. He reached up and helped her, watching in fascination as the clothing slid off, revealing more and more skin, parts he had never seen and only knew of from studying biology. His face was bright red as her skirt and undergarments were stripped away and thrown off, and she leaned down and straddled him once again.

He hissed, and she wriggled at him, and kissed him, hard. He moaned, hands running down to her bottom, squeezing, back up to her chest, up and down her sides, taking in every possible inch of soft skin his hands could contact. Alice drew away from him once again, abruptly, and he glared. She smiled, before she turned to Gil, and gently rubbed his shoulder.

"Raven, wake up."

"The hell. Let him sleep."

"Nope. Raveeeeen~" She poked him in the nose. The gunman twitched and tried to wave her hand away in sleep, and she just slapped him lightly on the cheek. "C'mon you lazy ass!"

"Uugh, what?" Gil asked, slowly opening a golden eye.

Alice leaned down, and whispered something to Gil. The gunman blinked for a moment as he listened, and Oz rolled his eyes once again. His servant sat up, suddenly, and reached over and placed his right hand on Oz's forehead. The heir blinked for a moment, and was just processing the fact that this was Gil's sealing hand, when blue light bloomed in his eyes, and he heard the small _ping_ of Alice's powers being released slightly.

"What in the _hell_—" He was promptly cut off when a chain shot towards him, and wrapped around his left wrist, "Uhh—" Yet another snapped at his foot, and wound up his leg, and the free end of the one attached to his wrist wrapped around the bedpost. " . . . Gil?"

No answer.

"Gil?!"

Gil had apparently fallen back asleep.

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU WHEN YOU WAKE UP! I WILL UNLEASH A THOUSAND CATS UPON YOU! DO YOU HEAR ME SERV—mmmmfff . . ."

Oz was promptly distracted as Alice kissed him roughly. He struggled underneath her, but the chains tightened around his limbs slightly, and he calmed, assuming the more he struggled, the tighter she would hold him. Alice drew back with a rather evil smile, and Oz gulped. He was doomed. Doomed to endless sexual torture. _Doomed_. His sex organs would shrivel up and die at the mercy of his female love.

"Comfortable?" Alice asked, running her fingers over a chain link.

"You're evil. Evil, evil, eviiil."

Alice pouted. "Raven said I should do it, it was his idea. He said you would like it."

"GIL! YOU WAKE THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW!"

Gil stirred slightly, and turned over, hugging his pillow tighter. Oz glared at him, and tried his best to flip his servant the bird with both hands bound over his head.

"What are you doing?" Alice asked. She had seen Break use that once in Sharon's presence, and she had set upon her servant with a fan, " . . . should I punish you?"

"No." Oz put his finger down. "And _what_ could have possessed Gil to give you this idea?"

Alice shrugged, and began to stroke Oz's hip again. He bit his lip, wary, as she watched him, eyebrows scrunched in contemplation. Oz waited, as her hand continued to caress his hipbone, maddeningly close to his member. He tried shifting so that she would brush against it, but the chains pulled him back into position when he tried to move, though they had ceased tightening, so his circulation wasn't cut off.

"Lessee, what should I try first?"

"God, I was in the shower for like five minutes. What did he tell you?"

"A lot."

" . . . I thought he was sleeping."

"He told me before he went to sleep."

" . . . I—I see."

Alice nodded, before her hand at last moved to his member, and slowly pulled. He moaned and arched his back, as her hand stroked, steady, rhythmic—it felt good. Her touches were light, and he wanted more, but he endured it. She smiled, and leaned down and kissed him, soft breasts brushing over his chest. Oz wriggled impatiently, but the chains kept him in place, yanking him back into position.

"A—Alice . . . uuhnn . . . e—evil . . ."

She smiled, and kissed him hard as she tugged on him.

"Ah! M—more . . ."

She released him, eyes taking in Oz's body—his flushed skin, his swollen, erect member, his vulnerability. She bit her lip, and moved so she straddled him, soft folds pressing into his hips. He gasped, and closed his eyes, breath growing heavier with anticipation, frustration, the thrill of it. Alice emitted a small sound, and he opened his eyes to see her with lips parted, violet eyes hazy, long chocolate hair brushing over her porcelain skin. She looked deceptively delicate, despite the fact that she held him at her mercy.

"A—Alice . . . p—please?"

Alice blinked at him, and then smiled. "Please what?"

Oz blushed. "Please . . . more?"

"That's not very specific." She folded her arms haughtily across her chest, lending her wonderful cleavage Oz's eyes were magnetized to. "C'mon, manservant. Say it."

"Er . . ." Oz's face was going to catch on fire, as he cast about for what to say. "Please . . . fuck me until I can't see straight?"

Alice blinked. "Is that what that word means?"

Oz nodded, eyes still on her chest, face still burning. Alice smiled, and leaned down and kissed him. Gil had given her many tips, and she suddenly slid down, down, and began kissing his neck, his chest. Oz wondered what in the hell she was planning, until she began to make a definitive path downwards. Oz opened his mouth in surprise, as she traced the definition of his abdominal muscles with her fingers, and kissed down the center line of his stomach. He laid his head back and stared at the ceiling, waiting.

Her lips were teasing him, contacting everywhere but where he wanted. He closed his eyes, and resumed deep breaths, until something warm and wet slithered up the right side of his shaft. He gasped, goosebumps raised along his skin. He heard Alice emit a small 'hmm' before his flesh was encased in hot—wet—her mouth—Jesus _Christ_.

"A—Aliiiiice! Uuuhnnn . . ."

She sucked experimentally, only sliding down him a bit, and he thrust his hips up. She drew back with a cough, and Oz peeked up at her. "S—sorry." She glared childishly at him, before she pressed down on his hips, bearing her weight so he couldn't thrust up. He watched with huge eyes as she leaned down and took his upper half into her mouth, and _God _why couldn't Gil have done this to him earlier?

She began to suck harder, and Oz arched his back, loud moans pouring from him as she sucked harder, harder, deeper—more—she suddenly ceased. Oz emitted a small noise, and looked up in time to see her shifting towards him again. He waited, as she straddled him. She leaned down and kissed him, hard, hands tugging at his hair. He kissed back with low groans, as she once again pressed her sex into his. She was such a tease . . .

"I—I'm gonna try it now, okay?" Alice murmured.

Oz took a moment to process what she meant, and nodded. "It'll hurt a bit. Just to warn you."

"Okay . . ."

She hesitated for a moment, before she wrapped her hand around his member. He wasn't sure if this was instinctive, or if Gil had told her, but by this point he didn't much care. He watched as she oriented herself over him, before he felt himself pressed against her entrance. Her eyes were on his, as she sank down, and his flesh seemed to melt inside her. He nearly went cross-eyed with the sensation, until she stopped with a small gasp.

Oz worked through the haze in his mind, and noted that her face was pained. He held himself still, as she waited to adjust, and his mind zeroed in on the sensation of her flesh surrounding him—hot, wet, compressed, perfect. She leaned down, and kissed him again, before she sank the remainder of the way. Oz gasped. "Uuuhhnn . . . Aliiiiice . . ." She began to move, and he did with her, back arching, hips pushing up to be farther, deeper, more.

"Oooz . . . uuuhnnnn . . ."

"A—Aliiice . . . y—you feel . . . so good . . . uuhn . . . uuaah!"

Her skin was soft against his, her flesh perfect around him, and she worked her hips faster, faster, until he was plunging deep and her arms were shaking with the effort as she used his shoulders as leverage to pull herself up, down, up. There was a loud crack, and one of the chains wrapped around a bedpost on Oz's headboard splintered the wood, and eventually snapped away, leaving Oz's hand free. He took full advantage, reaching up and kneading Alice's breasts one-handed. Alice moaned, and nuzzled him, the sensations of her body merging together wonderfully.

The pressure built, built, heat increasing, more, _more_—

"Oz! OOOZ! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Aliice . . . A—ALICE! A—ALI—AAAHHHH!"

Oz felt Alice's muscles squeeze him tight, tight, until it nearly hurt, and he tipped over the edge right after, hand digging into her shoulder for an anchor. They orgasmed in succession, limbs shaking, bodies electrified with pleasure and the release of pressure. Alice eventually relaxed, and keeled over into his chest. The chains all went limp and slid away and vanished, her power spent. Oz wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her on the neck, the cheek, her lips.

"That was . . . that was wonderful."

"Y—yes. I like this sex thing," she breathed.

"Mm, I'm glad. I love you."

"Love you, too. You never said that to Raven, after."

Oz scowled. "He doesn't deserve it anyway. He conspired against his master." Oz reached over, and flicked Gil in the nose. The gunman scrunched his face up, and woke.

"Mm . . . hallo."

"I'm going to kill you."

Gil blinked. "H—huh?"

"You helped me tie up Oz. And it was your idea."

Gil stared at Oz's glare for a moment, then paled. "Y—you weren't supposed to _tell_ him!"

"So it _was_ your idea!" Oz said.

"I thought you'd like it!"

"You're so lucky I don't have energy right now."

"Perhaps I could help you with revenge, Oz~" Alice mused.

Gil squeaked, and pulled his pillow over his face so he couldn't see their evil smiles. Why did things always backfire against him? Well, he deserved it in this case, but really. There was no winning this particular battle. Though, he had a feeling he would probably enjoy whatever punishment Oz and Alice devised. As much as he refused to admit it, he did retain some masochistic tendencies. And it wasn't like they would truly hurt him—they loved him. He peeked out from behind the pillow, to see Oz stroking Alice's hair idly.

"Does Gil feel rested, now?" Oz asked.

"Yes. I do."

"Then it's Alice's turn~"

Alice nodded, and kissed Oz, before she sat up, and away from him. Gil watched her, as he pushed himself up as well. Her eyes were intense, beautiful amethyst and wine, and he wondered why it was he had never noticed how beautiful those eyes were before. He was almost reminded of Oz's, though she didn't hold that same hypnotic, apocalyptic power. He leaned in slowly, and her hand gently stroked his dark, curly hair back.

"It doesn't feel like seaweed." She whispered.

"Of course, Stupid Rabbit. It's hair."


	7. Chapter 5: Antagonistic Adoration

**Disclaimer:** All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

_Victimes de Nous-mêmes _story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.

* * *

******FST:** _Hate That I Love You_ Rihanna & Ni-Yo**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 5:**** Antagonistic Adoration**

Alice closed the gap, kissed Gil, and together their hearts swelled into the love Oz wanted them to have. Gil's hands found her hips, and he traced their soft curve, up, down, until she wriggled away and laughed. It tickled her, apparently. Gil smiled at Alice, and she leaned in again, their kisses rough, competitive, sensual. Her hands scraped through his hair, and pulled—she was fascinated by how soft it was, the way it was the color of ink, soft curls relaxing against pale cheeks and neck. Gil really was as beautiful as she found Oz, and she wondered why she had never noticed it, before.

She felt Gil's hands slide up her back, and traced around to her front. He cupped her breasts along the outside, and she sighed as he lightly squeezed. It made her body shiver, and she kissed him harder, deeper, rougher. He pulled her until she settled into his lap, and his hands kneaded her chest rhythmically. She could feel his chest rise and fall, his rapid heartbeat, his smooth skin transforming into puckered scar tissue. She nuzzled his neck.

"More?"

"You want more?" Gil murmured. "More of what?"

"I dunno. Maybe you could do what I did to Oz. With your mouth."

Gil blushed at the thought, "I—I suppose. I've never done it before . . . I—I mean, with a woman . . ."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I've actually never been with a girl."

"What?" Oz's voice cut across. They both turned, to look at him.

"Er . . . I've actually only ever been with . . . other men. It's weird, I know."

"I see. Who were you with?" Alice asked.

Gil hesitated. "You don't want to know."

"Why not?" Oz asked.

"Because . . . it—it doesn't matter, anyway. I love you two. This means something important, now."

Alice narrowed her eyes. "I think it's important."

"Yes. We won't judge you, I swear," Oz said.

" . . . Break."

Alice stared at him. "Seriously?"

"Don't laugh! I was like sixteen and it was stupid!"

"Wow, you were around my age," Oz said.

"You're not helping."

"Sorry. Anyone else?"

Gil hesitated once again, but his two loves were watching him. " . . . um . . . V—Vince . . . taught me some things."

They both blinked at him. Oz seemed to process this and understand more than Alice, because he began to look rather green. Gil cringed, and looked away. They probably didn't want anything to do with him, anymore. Incest was wrong, it was sick, it wasn't okay. A small hand cupped his chin, and pulled up his head, so that he had to look at Alice. Her eyes were narrowed, calculating in only the way a fighter could be.

"It's okay. We still love you."

"Yes." Oz's voice was quiet.

Gil nodded, eyes still on Alice, and she kissed him once again, hard, slow, as though she were convincing him that he wouldn't be abandoned or forgotten. His arms tightened around her, and she pushed her hips into his abruptly. He gasped as he jolted, and moaned, as he began to move with her. Her body was soft, and so very small, even more so than Oz had been. Her folds were pressed into the side of his member, and it was making him dizzy.

Alice eventually relaxed her body, and began to pull away from him. He watched her for a moment, before he rose and pushed her back. She squeaked, startled, and he found it . . . it was cute. He blushed, and kissed her on the forehead. He found her hands, which were tiny enough to fit into one of his, and pulled them over her head. He laced his fingers with hers, and kissed her in the center of her neck, and he felt her swallow underneath his lips.

Alice watched the ceiling, as his soft lips brushed down her neck. She gasped when he would scrape his teeth over her skin, nip, lick. She wriggled underneath him, desiring for him to go lower, but he took as much time as he wanted. Eventually, he traveled down to her left breast, and she squeaked as something slick and hot slithered over her right breast. It took her a moment to realize it was his _tongue_, and she moaned as he brushed over her nipple, around to the outside, and back again to center.

"G—Giiiil . . . uhhn . . . that—that's so . . ."

Soft lips kissed her nipple, and she could feel him smiling, before her skin was covered in hot, soaking—he began to suck on her right breast. She closed her eyes, as she felt his warm hand press into her other and squeeze, and she moaned. Gil began to suck harder, as she felt his thigh suddenly press between her legs. She wriggled again, as her body shivered with pleasure and heat pooled in her stomach, down between her legs. She wanted more.

Gil appeared to read her mind, or perhaps it was simply his servant's intuition, because he kissed between her breasts, before he left a trail down her ribcage, down her stomach. She tried to sit up to peek at his progress, but his hands were holding her down, long arms reaching all the way up her torso. She scowled, and flopped back and waited. She heard Gil chuckle gently, a low rumble that vibrated against her and made her shiver. Stupid Seaweed Head. Making her wait.

He made it her hips, and she expected him to continue in a straight line, but he diverted, kissing the outside of her hipbone. She moaned, and wriggled, and cuffed the side of his head with her thigh.

"Hurry up, stupid!"

"Mm, you're no fun."

"If you torture me, you'll pay for it later."

"Sorry, Alice."

She realized belatedly that they had begun to use each other's given names a mere few minutes ago, when she had moaned his name . . . she blushed, embarrassed suddenly. She was turning into a pushover underneath his skilled hands and tongue. She was promptly distracted when something soft pressed at the peak between her legs. She blinked, and wondered what Gil was doing, before something else hot and slithery pressed in the same spot and—

"G—Gil! Uuuuuhn! Ahhh . . ."

It was his tongue once again, his lips, his mouth. He swirled underneath her hood, toying with the small sweet spot, until her legs felt like jelly and she was writhing because it was too, too hot and it felt good. His mouth moved lower, and opened up, and she wriggled again as his lips toyed with her flesh, soft tongue following the contours of her sex, lips pressing at intervals. She moaned, and clamped her legs over his back, shoving his face as far between her legs as she could force him. He resisted slightly—he still needed to breathe, but her strong legs held him firmly in place.

His hands had released hers earlier, so he could move farther down, and they began to rub the inside of her thighs, soft, light, long touches. Alice sighed, content with the sensations of his mouth, his hands. She wriggled after a bit, wanting more, and he complied. She gasped, as she felt his tongue press to her entrance, before it slithered inside.

"AAAAH! G—Giiiiil . . . aaaaahhh . . . uuuhnn . . ."

"Mmm . . ."

She tasted different than he had expected—heady and musky, a mixed taste of salt and sweet and something else that was just Alice. He moaned again, softly, and pressed his tongue to her inner walls, sliding it up and down. She squealed, and her legs pushed him farther between her legs. He groaned, suffocating in her smell, her taste, her heat. He extended his tongue as he was pressed forward, and discovered a small, fleshy nub. He swirled his tongue around it curiously, and she jerked before her muscles clamped down around him.

"GIIIIIIIIIIIL!"

He nearly suffocated as she pressed him into her, though this would have been a rather nice way to die. He was flooded with an increase of her tangy juices, which he tried his best to swallow so he wouldn't drown in them. Her legs at last relaxed, and he was free to slip out and wipe her fluids away from his face. He sat back, and sucked in some fresh air until he no longer felt dizzy from lack of oxygen. Alice had her eyes on him, watching his every small movement with great intent. He finished recovering, and leaned down and kissed her softly. She nuzzled his cheek, and wrapped her legs around his waist.

He began to adjust himself to slip inside her, but she suddenly pushed him until he turned over. She smiled, and pushed on him. "Scoot against the headboard."

He blinked for a moment, and then complied with her command, moving back until his back sat against Oz's headboard. Alice crawled towards him, a rather devious smile on her face, and Gil bit his lip. He wondered what she was planning, but it appeared simple when she simply climbed over his legs and straddled him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her close, his head falling back against the wall as she sank down over him, wonderfully slick and tight.

"Gilbert?" A little hand settled itself into his hair, and he blinked and looked down at her. She began to move, and he groaned, strong hands splayed across her hips, as he impaled her harder over him, faster, deeper. Her body was as breathtaking as Oz's, just as perfect, delicate, all his. She laid her head down on his shoulder, violet eyes closing, as they moved together, her cries drowning his own, as he felt his body coil tighter, tighter.

"Giiiil . . . . I—I love you . . ."

He blinked, and kissed her weakly on the neck. "L—Love you, too . . . nnnnn . . ."

"Uuuhnn . . . Giiil . . ."

He slammed her down harder, harder, deeper, deeper, until she shrieked, and her little nails scratched his chest. "GIIIIIL! AAAAAAAAAAH!"

"A—Aliice! Uuhnn . . ."

She went limp, and he relaxed against the headboard, the whisper of their breath as they recovered it hissing in the air around them. Gil lifted his head, and looked down at Alice, who smiled at him, before he glanced over his shoulder at Oz. He blushed—his master was in the midst of pleasuring himself, and he orgasmed a moment later, curling in as his body tensed, then relaxed. Gil hadn't expected to see that, but he felt flattered it had been enough to drive Oz that mad.

Alice kissed him lazily, before she slid off of him, and laid down. Oz waited until she was settled, before he crawled over and snuggled in next to her. Gil smiled, and slid down himself, until he was able to reach out and grab them, pulling both close to him. Oz giggled, and he could feel Alice wriggling and muttering about idiot servants, and he chuckled. He reached down, and pulled the covers from under them, and they all shifted as he pulled the blankets up to their shoulders. They all relaxed into each other, the warmth of body heat and bedding soothing, perfect, peaceful.

"I love you both." Oz murmured.

Gil smiled, "Love you both, too."

"Same. I love my boys~"

Soon, the room was silent, but for the soft breaths of a sleeping threesome.


	8. Chapter 6: What A Surprise

**Disclaimer:** All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

_Victimes de Nous-mêmes _story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.

* * *

**Chapter 6:**** What A Surprise**

Oz woke to the beauty of soft skin pressed into his, the rise-and-fall-sigh of sleeping breath, the flutter of Alice's thick eyelashes in dreams, Gil's ebony ringlets inked over the pillow. The world was surreal and out of place, here in this bedroom, as the impression of this new relationship continued to seep through his psyche. It was almost too perfect, too heart-stoppingly ideal that they would fall in love with him, with each other. But Oz could see it in the sigh of their breath and the way Gil's fingers searched out for Alice's, for Oz's, as he dreamt.

He was aware that Pandora would soon search for them, for a mission, a meeting, for the imposition of existence, duty, the tragedy of their lives painted in the many reports Reim so meticulously kept organized—but for now, time would exist suspended between the heat of their bodies and the pulse of their hearts. Their flesh was hot against his, fallen on the edge of sweltering, but Oz didn't care because he was able to lay there and watch the way they dreamt.

He wanted to stay here eternally.

Gil woke softly, slanted golden eyes unfolded, watched Oz—he smiled and kissed him slowly, arms pulled him in close, close, until their bodies felt the same and their heartbeats matched. Touches and kisses were beyond speech or the expression of words, and there were only soft groans and the pressure of fingers on skin. They made love for a second time, and it was hotter, sexier, infusing them with the breath of love, heat, bliss. They were helpless to each other, and Oz wondered what God could have planned for them—he knew by firsthand love like this was rare, yet he was lucky enough to have it twofold.

Alice woke, to the sounds of their sex, and things unfolded between the three of them once again. Gil allowed himself to be driven to exhaustion, but still he remained awake for the inbetween, as Alice and Oz began to talk, about everything, nothing, life, death, the way Sharon was coping with the death of her grandmother, how much they missed Leo and Elliot, all the dead that laid behind them. Gil listened, and he only asked questions occasionally, before he listened to the answers with absolute rapture.

"Do you think you're ready to be a duke?"

Alice's question caught Oz off guard, "I don't know."

"I think you are."

"I agree." Gil murmured.

Oz fell silent, and the quiet permeated between them as Oz stroked Gil's hair and Gil held Alice. He watched his Chain with great intent, and his hand went for some reason to his seal, pressed slender fingers into the heartbeat there. He wondered how much more he would use Alice's power, how many more strokes before he was separated from the world and closed in Abyss. He thought about cures and redemption and the inextricable human ability to remain on the edges of survival.

"I want to be a writer." The statement hung in the air, and his lovers watched him. Alice nodded, Gil seemed surprised. Oz allowed himself a smile, "I want to write about things that matter. Tragedies that are redemption, beauty in the darkness, and the presence of light if you know where to look. I even have written some things, I just haven't shown anyone. And I read so much—it's something I would like to do."

"You could have both." Gil said.

Oz nodded, "Most nobles do, from what I understand."

"Can we read some of your writing?" Alice asked.

"I suppose. I don't think I'm very good, yet."

"I'm sure Oz is very talented." Gil whispered. He stroked back his master's gold-spun hair and began to count the freckles on his face. Alice nodded, her smile soft, her hands traced up Oz's chest, into his hair and down his spine.

"You're worth more than you know."

* * *

It was in the quiet looks, touches, smiles between them, the stillness of snuggles and sleep between lovemaking, the soft way they would dote on each other, that the three of them began to learn what love meant. Romance wasn't explosive or heady or insane, it was quiet goosebumps, comfort from tears and the eternity of night, the bliss of long summer days spent in the garden reading, taking walks, sneaking into lush vegetation for sex.

The world seemed to glow. Gil took up a habit of whistling. Oz began to write stories about love. Alice began to pick flowers for her boys. Mere weeks passed, but to the threesome, it felt like lifetimes, because surely this much emotion was enough for them to live on for millennia. They were still young enough, still naive enough, to believe their love could move mountains or topple cities or perhaps even save their friends.

Alice sat with Sharon and Break, watching as they argued over a map. Oz and Gil were spending their first day away from her since the three of them had begun courting; doing something or other that pertained to Oz's duties as an heir. Break and Sharon were disagreeing over something about a strategy Pandora was devising for a hard-to-catch Chain. Break was of the opinion that they attack it from above, but Sharon insisted that wouldn't be wise, since the Chain could fly. She wanted to attack it from below. Alice wasn't quite sure what the purpose of the map was or why Break was using it to back up his opinions—he couldn't see, and half the time he pointed out a location on it, it was nowhere near the proper place.

"But it would probably see an attack from above. You'd think it would—"

"Ah, but the fact that it looks up means it's about to fly away. If we attack it from above, it would be easier to pin it down."

Sharon pouted, and pointed to a spot on the map. "But we could use the sewers, see?"

"No, I don't."

"You're using the map, too, silly."

"What's life without whimsy~?"

"Big Sister Sharon." Alice tugged at her sleeve.

"Bre-eak, you make no sense. Don't pretend you feel—"

"Sister Sharon." Alice tugged on Sharon's sleeve more insistently.

Sharon looked around, "Yes, Alice _la petite_?"

Alice toyed with her teacup, watching it intently. "I need to talk to you."

"Oh? What do you need?"

"The Clown needs to go away," she said, shooting him a glare.

Break rose, hands up in surrender. "Okay, going. I don't think I want to listen to women's chatter, anyway." He ducked the fan Sharon promptly threw at him for the slight, and took his tea and cake with him before he left. Sharon rose, and retrieved her fan, tucking it away primly and picking up her tea as she sat down next to Alice. She smiled gently at her adoptive younger sister, and took a sip, pink eyes intent with concern.

"What's wrong?"

Alice shrugged. "It's actually sort of strange . . ."

"Oh? What is it?"

"My period hasn't come yet. And it was supposed to last week."

Sharon froze, mid-reach for a pastry. "Wh—what?"

"I missed my period? Or it's late. I dunno. Is there something wrong with me?"

Silence. Sharon went rather pale.

"Sister Sharon?"

Sharon retracted her hand, and folded it against her teacup. Alice blinked as the porcelain began to clink—Sharon's hands were shaking. The Chain began to worry, and reached over to feel Sharon's forehead. "Are you alright?"

"Have—have you three used any . . . any contraceptives?'

Alice dropped her hand, brows furrowed in thought, "No. What're those?"

The shaking increased and Sharon put down her tea, and pulled out her fan. "Where. Are. Those. Boys?"

"Er . . . I think Oz said they're in the meeting room, with Uncle Oscar and—"

CRACK. Alice jumped as Sharon slammed her fan against the table and rose. She wondered what was going on, and why Sharon seemed so . . . so . . . angry. She looked like she was preparing to go skin Oz and Gil alive, and Alice wasn't sure she was too keen on that. Only _she_ was allowed to beat them within an inch of their mortality.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Th—those two . . . are such _idiots_."

"Idiots? Why?"

"Because. You're late."

Alice bit her lip. "What do they have to do with that?"

"Remember what I told you what the woman's cycle was for?"

Alice nodded. "So it can create a house for a baby and—" She stopped. Oh. _Oh_. Alice blinked. "I—I'm . . ."

"Yes. And if you don't mind, I'm going to go kill them, now."

Sharon swept out of the room, and Alice was left to contemplate the implications of what had been said. A baby. A child, a little boy or girl that would grow within her, be born. A child whom she would be a mother to, Oz and Gil would be fathers of, something for them to love, hold, cherish. Alice pressed her hands into her abdomen, and looked down, as her heartbeat increased in pace. Their very own baby. A little one who would look like her, and Gil or Oz. She blinked, before a slow smile spread across her face.

Here, inside her, was growing the family each of them had always wished for.

* * *

"I haate politics." Oz flopped his head over into the table with a dull _clunk_. "Uncle, can we be done, yet? Pleeeeaase?"

Oscar reached across the table, and patted his nephew on the head. "There's only a few more to go."

Oz groaned. "My brain is friiieed."

"Here." Reim set yet another dauntingly thick file next to Oz. He blinked at it, before pushing it towards Gil. The servant stared at the large stack of papers, and moved them slowly back towards Oz. His master narrowed his eyes, and shoved them once again towards Gil. Oz's servant was present to wait on Oz and see Oscar, and Reim was there to help Oz with the practicalities of paperwork.

"You have to do this," Gil said.

"No."

"If you do it, you can have ice cream!" Oscar said.

"No."

"Wine?"

"Nope."

"Perhaps Gilbert could reward you in other ways."

"UNCLE!"

"This is an easy case study. I promise~!"

"Mm. No."

"Perhaps . . . we could take Master Oz to the bookstore," Reim suggested.

Oz froze, and blinked, before he perked up. "Really?"

"As many books as my little nephew wants~" Oscar sang.

"Hhmm. You'll buy me that new full color character guide for _Holy Knight_?"

"If it's Reim's money~"

"What?!"

"Aaaand as many books as I want?"

"Of course."

"W—wait a min—"

"Deal!"

"Yay!" Oscar hugged his nephew until Oz pushed him off.

Oz opened the file, and began to read the introductory passage with a bored sigh. But anything was worth it for more books. Oscar smiled fondly and ruffled his adoptive son's hair. Break had made the unexpected report a few weeks ago that Oz had started an affair with his Chain, and most surprisingly, Gilbert as well. He had been unsettled at first, but he could see how happy his nephew was, so he suppressed the lectures on scandal and morality. It was clear that the three of them were in love, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause his two surrogate sons more grief than they already faced. If they were in love with each other, then so it would be—Gil may as well be his son-in-law.

"You said this would be easy," Oz's voice disrupted Oscar's thoughts.

"It is." Oscar peeked at the file. "You're smart. You can figure it out."

"Is it one of those things where it's a really simple answer, but you'd never think of it?"

"Yep~"

" . . . then it's not easy."

"Oooh, you're just being lazy."

"I dunno. What does Gil think?" Oz asked, sliding it over to the gunman. Gil skimmed the information.

"It_ is_ actually very easy. You can figure it out."

"Urgh, you three are so useless. Maybe I could at least ha—"

BLAM.

All four men jumped, as the door was swung into the wall. They all looked up, to see Lady Sharon standing in the doorway, her fan tapping against her open palm. Oscar stood in customary greeting, as did everyone else, as she entered the room, watching them all haughtily. She was shorter than all of them, but that didn't make her any less intimidating. She walked around the table, the _click . . . click . . . click_ of her fan against her palm filling the silent room. She halted behind Oz and Gil.

"Tell me, young Monsieur Oz. What do you know of biology?"

"Biology?" Oz swallowed nervously. "A—a lot, why?"

He flinched as the fan poked him in the back. "Then I'm sure you're aware of the functions of the human body."

"Er . . . y—yes?"

"And what about Monsieur Nightray, hmm?"

Gil paled. "W—well, I don't know as much . . ."

"I'm sure you know enough." Gil jumped as the fan whacked him on the shoulder. "Because we all know that you two know how reproduction works."

"Reproduction? What does this pertain to, Lady Rainsworth?" Oscar asked.

"Your boys have taken advantage of Alice la petite."

Oz froze, as did Gil. "Wh—what?" They each turned around, just in time to see Sharon swinging back her fan—

"Oz! Gil!" Sharon let her fan drop, looking somewhat disappointed. Alice entered the room, paused and took in the scene, walked around to her two lovers. She smiled at them, her face sweet, soft, pure, and took a deep breath. She took each of their hands, violet eyes intense with emotion her body didn't betray.

"We're going to have a baby!"

"WHAT?!"

" . . . uh?"

Oz blanched until only his freckles retained color, and Gil stared at her for a moment, before he sat down and passed out. The room was deadly still, the awkward silence stretching into gruff coughs and Reim pouring himself tea, as everyone attempted to fill the empty space with sound. Alice looked around, nonplussed, and eventually, Oscar smiled tentatively.

"Congratulations." He laughed. "Congratulations! I'm going to be a great uncle!"

Oz was still pale, and he accepted the tea Reim handed him and sat down. "A—a—b—baby?"

"Yeah!" Alice leaned down and inspected his face. "You don't look so good."

"Alice. I—I'm fifteen."

"So?"

" . . . I'm _fifteen_."

Alice shrugged.

"I—I'm not ready to be a father!"

Alice giggled. "Yes you are."

Oz groaned. "How could we be so stupid . . ."

"And why did this happen?" Sharon huffed. "This is unusually idiotic of you two."

"We thought . . . we thought since she was a Chain . . . it wouldn't . . ."

Sharon promptly cracked him in the skull with her fan. "Excuses!"

"OW! I'M SORRY I'M SORRY ITWON'THAPPENAGAIN!"

"Wow." Oscar sighed. "Well . . . it looks like you will have to marry."

"Wh—wh—whaaat?" Oz went even paler, his freckles at last draining of color.

"Otherwise it would be a scandal. And I suppose we could come up with a cover to stave off any suitors of Gilbert. Besides, it's time you two boys married—you're both legally that age. Though I'm not quite sure how it could work in this case . . ."

Oz's hands began to shake, and he slowly leaned forward and set his tea on the table. Alice giggled once again, and snuggled into his lap. Oz sighed, and closed his eyes, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Who's going to wake Gil?"


	9. Chapter 7: The End of Innocence

**Disclaimer:** All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

_Victimes de Nous-mêmes _story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.

* * *

**********FST:** _We Are Broken_ Paramore**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 7:**** The End of Innocence**

"HAAAAA!"

Oz darted for Break fiercely, who deftly sidestepped him. Oz whipped around, and charged his swordmaster once again, metal-and-metal clashing with an ear-rending clang. Break smiled, slid his sword back along Oz's, and flicked it out, efficiently disarming his student. Oz glared at him as Break swung his sword back to point at Oz's throat. The heir huffed, and stalked off to retrieve his weapon while Break smiled and sheathed his own.

"Good work. You made progress today."

" . . . you're actually praising me?"

"Oh, I'm not _that _cruel~"

Oz rolled his eyes as he picked up his sword and sheathed it. "Troll."

"You wound me, dear student."

"Don't call me that!"

Break snickered, as Oz stretched to work out his stiff muscles. He had recently decided to take up proper swordfighting once again, and Break had offered to teach him. Oz had been reluctant to accept at first, but they had been unable to find a swordmaster who would be willing to travel with them on missions, which left Break as the only choice. Oz had the distinct feeling that his new teacher had threatened any potential masters away, but it was too late to change things by this point. Break was indeed a very good teacher, if not utterly terrifying—he made Oz work hard.

"You need to work on your turnout. You're having a floppy wrist, which is partially why I could disarm you."

"Alright." Oz still had yet to determine how his master discerned these things as a blind man, but he knew experience was more than seeing with one's eyes. Break wasn't yet completely blind, but they both wondered how much longer he would be able to teach. "Anything else?"

"Your stance is still terrible."

"Urgh."

"You do have good posture, though."

"Thank you."

Break nodded, and clapped his hands together. "I hear there's cake at the Pandora meeting today~!"

"There's always cake at the Pandora meetings. I wonder where Alice and Gil are . . ."

"It's not just any cake, it's _fudge_ cake! Chocolate, chocolate~"

Oz simply rolled his eyes, and left Break in the courtyard. He wandered down the nearest garden path, ears open for the sounds of his lovers—they would most likely be bickering, and that tended to escalate into shouting. He found it amusing—they were already like an elderly married couple, and he found it cute. He sighed as he passed flowers, shrubs, trees, everything green and beautifully fragrant—it was the height of June, nearly his birthday. He and Alice had appeared from Abyss a few days after his birth date, and he still couldn't comprehend that it was a mere year ago. Oz still wasn't quite sure whether he was turning twenty-six or sixteen—he felt he had lived far past either age, seen more, done more, than a typical young person.

He rounded a corner, and found Alice and Gil snuggled on a bench. Gil was in the process of teaching Alice how to weave a crown of daisies, and Oz smiled as he watched Gil's large hands guide Alice's smaller ones through the craft. He approached them, and Gil looked up as Alice continued to practice weaving green stalks together.

Oz sat down on Gil's left side. "Hello."

"Hey. Did swordfighting go well?"

"Eh. Break said I'm getting better."

"That's good. He's not giving you trouble, is he?"

" . . . he's Break."

"Fair point."

Oz laughed, and kissed Gil. "I see you're teaching Alice to make a flower crown."

"It's hard. Seaweed Head said it's easy," Alice pouted.

"It is pretty easy, once you get it."

"Here, you have to handle the stems gently," Gil slipped the plants away from her. "Like this, you gently coax them, otherwise they tear."

Alice observed, and nodded, before Gil handed it back to her and she resumed her attempts. "Gil says he has an idea."

"Oh? What kind of idea?" Oz asked.

"Well . . . for our cover," Gil added.

"I thought we had one. I'm marrying Alice, and you're going to be our 'advisor.'"

"Yes, but I'll have to take a wife, eventually."

"True . . ."

"So . . . that's what it's for."

Oz arched his eyebrows, his heart swelling with assumed jealousy. "Who is she?"

Gil laughed. "Rose Vessalius, distant cousin of yours. She looks remarkably like you."

" . . . I have a cousin named Rose?"

"No," Gil smiled. "It'll be you."

"Me?" Oz blinked, as he considered this. "I . . . I have to dress as a woman?"

"Yes. And marry me as a woman, and maybe Alice and I could sign papers without a ceremony. We could just . . . ensure no law or clergy say anything."

"I have to dress as a woman."

Gil nodded.

" . . . you're just fulfilling a suppressed fetish, aren't you."

Gil spluttered and turned red. "I—I—I am NOT!"

"That just confirmed it! I knew it! You like me in a dress! Gil has a crossdressing thing~"

"I DO NOT HAVE A CROSSDRESSING THING!"

"Gil has a crossdressing thing~!"

"IT'S PRACTICAL! It makes sense and we don't have to let any women down!"

Oz snickered. "True. I suppose it could work."

"And I do not have a fetish for . . . for _that_."

"Uh-huh."

"I don't."

"Gil is a bad liar," Alice stated.

"A—Alice!"

"Indeed," Oz agreed.

Gil spluttered and turned twice as red. "A—Anyway, I was thinking we could have a ball for the . . . the concept to be introduced. We can announce our engagement."

"Alright. It might be wise to make it a masquerade. People might suspect, if I look like Oz. Plus I just like them~!"

Gil nodded. "Good idea. And Rose would only be required for public appearances."

"Yeah—the only problem is that I'll likely grow . . . and I'll get taller and my voice will get deeper . . ."

"Actually, Pandora has been considering getting you a legal contract. It would . . . it would slow things down. And give us more time, for a solution." Gil nodded to Oz's chest, and the young heir pressed his hand over his heart.

"Oh . . . I see."

"Nothing has been confirmed, yet. I'm supposed to talk about it with you."

"Ah. Well, I'm supposed to inherit my father's Chain . . ."

"Yes, but he's still alive."

"Yeah . . ."

"So . . . this legal contract. What if I found my own Chain?"

* * *

Oz would later remember that night as a floor that expanded into eternity, a flawless, perfect sheet of marble, solid earth for nobles to walk, to dance, to exist upon—they were peacocks and seasons and gods, they were more than people, unlimited by imagination and their masks. He remembered standing nervous behind closed doors, he remembered feeling ridiculous when Rose's name and title were announced, he remembered feeling beautiful as Gil turned and blushed and took his hand and told him he was an apparition.

He was dressed in green, an elaborate gown of lace and gauze and silk, with ribbons in gold-spun hair and an emerald mask to make his eyes glow—he was under the visage of Earth, Gil was dressed as Death, Alice was masked in Heaven, who was there in place of Oz. He acted demure and chaste and shy, he charmed male guests, he smiled at the envy of other young girls. He created a beautiful young girl, he threw his voice to make it appear higher, and the guests were all fooled.

Gil held him tight as they danced, he leaned down and kissed Oz chastely on the cheek, on the lips, he told the cousins of Rainsworths and Barmas and Nightrays that they were in love, their love was irrevocable, and Oz was glad he could hold his servant's hand among strangers. Gil seemed hypnotized, Gil seemed thrilled, as he danced with Oz, as he danced with Alice, as he watched them act the part of two girls who were just beginning to bond over the idea of marriage. To him, they were angels, otherworldly beings, wispy things he didn't have any right to possess—beyond human, beyond beauty.

Alice watched her boys dance, and she was able to smile, able to pretend with Oz. He and Alice danced too, and people smiled at the young girls playacting, commented that they might be in each other's weddings, cooed over their budding friendship. They stole kisses in the shadows, behind pillars, between the looks of guests. His hand was soft at her waist, around her shoulders—people mistook them for fast friends, and her younger lover laughed at what people would believe, at the logic of nobility.

The engagement was announced, the wedding date was set, two days after Oz's to Alice, and their bond was set in stone.

* * *

Alice was enthralled as days turned to weeks, as she experienced morning sickness and mood swings and cravings, as she dreamed of holding a baby, birthing a baby, thought about names and who the father would be. Her symptoms were mild, and the doctor insisted she tread carefully. He thought the baby would be a boy. He forbade her from fighting and too much meat, and Oz and Gil comforted her when she became frustrated. They had more sex, hot sex, and she was glad they were all hers—they laid in bed and talked and wished and hoped.

"I'm excited."

"I am too, Alice." Oz pulled her closer.

"What should we name the baby?"

"I don't know," Gil whispered.

"What about Elliot if it's a boy?" she asked.

"Yes." Oz smiled, the smile was sad. "And Rechelle if it's a girl—after my mother."

"I like that," Gil murmured.

"As do I," Alice smiled, and closed her eyes to sleep. "As do I."

* * *

Leo sometimes wondered what he was doing, what others thought of him, what Elliot would possibly think if he were alive. But he wasn't here, and that was why Leo was in this place, here among the Baskervilles. He would order Vincent, order Echo, order the Baskervilles to leave him be. He spent too much time idle, he allowed himself to think and grieve and reminisce. Sometimes Lacie's melody would haunt him, and he would find something grow within him, another identity. He was no longer sure where Leo ended and Glen began.

He had found his glasses several weeks ago, in a drawer he had attempted to forget. He was surprised to find them cracked, and he wondered if they had been knocked into, if the air pressure had changed in the room or the little drawer. He had drawn Elliot's sword for the first time in months, and found the metal oxidized—it had turned iridescent white with age or perhaps the infinity of absence. Sometimes he would wake and find white doves at his window, _tap-tap-tapping_, and they would flee when he opened it to feed them birdseed.

He watched, he waited, he was lonely. Sometimes, he still cried. He would page through Elliot's old diary, run hands over his deceased lover's cursive, and wish a hand would squeeze his shoulder so he could look up into eyes formed from ice. The words would come, and he would retreat to his bed to sleep among silhouettes he couldn't touch. It was his mantra, his eternal recitation, and it beat with his heart, his breath—it was the definition of his existence.

_I want him back, I want him back, I want him back . . ._

* * *

Eight weeks into Alice's pregnancy, Oz was roused by small, delicate hands shoved into his shoulder. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, inhaled the rusty, iron smell of blood. He was up and on guard in a moment, and reached for the lamp on the nightstand. He could hear Alice's small whimpers and sobs, the sounds of Gil waking on her other side. He switched on the lamp, and found his female fiancé, their bed, enwrapped in blood. He opened his mouth to say something, but Alice held out her cupped hands, where a small creature laid.

Alice was distraught. "He died."

Oz couldn't breathe.

Their baby was the size of a plum. It was a small tadpole with a face, hands, and a heartbeat. Its skin was translucent and feeble, fallen away from half-formed bones. And their child was dying, dying, dead. Scientifically, Oz's mind jumped to the word 'miscarriage', even as his heart stopped, even as he held out his hands to hold the fetus, even as his vision blurred and tears wound down his cheeks. He cradled it close, and wondered at what this little half-human could have been. A daughter or son with his eyes or Gil's smile or Alice's hair, that would bring them joy and fulfillment and parental pride.

On the far side of Alice, Gil was silent and withdrawn and he stared off into space in a way that was unsettling, and eventually stood to clean up the blood, the pieces of their baby. Alice and Oz were forced to move. The doctor was called, and he simply advised them to place their child in a box and bury it. So the threesome stood together at a corner of the Rainsworth graveyard to bury their unborn child, huddled against the grief, and did as they were told. None of them were sure what to say.

Alice spoke at last. "I—I want to name him."

Gil stopped nursing his cigarette and put it out. His heart was heavy, his voice was quiet, and he seemed distractible. "What should we, then?"

"I don't know . . ."

Oz was tense, unable to speak. He wasn't sure he would be able to, because here were the prospects of the family he'd always wished for, lying deceased in a small ivory box underground. He squeezed his eyes shut, and turned away, ran away, he wanted nothing more to do with this. His heart ached, his soul was dead, and he wondered how God could be so unfair when he was already so depraved.

"Oz. Oz! Where are you going?"

No answer. Gil nor Alice stopped him. The next morning, they found him collapsed over his writing desk, the beginning of a story scrawled across five pages. The Chain picked it up curiously, and they began to read. It was a tragedy; it ended with the characters all dead, the innocent crushed. They woke him, and the three of them held each other. They cried as they were wrapped in morning light when the sun broke the horizon. It was a beautiful, wonderfully warm day. The world didn't deserve such a day.

It was as though the world had stopped, suspended for this moment in their pain.

Outside their window, a brown mourning dove tapped at the glass.

_**-Arc I: END-**_

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**A/N:** What, you thought this fic was gonna be cute and fluffy? Naaaaaah. This is Pandora Hearts, for God's sake! What'd you expect?

No, but really, the story is now going to take a more serious, sadder turn. This was the final chapter in Arc I—I hope you liked it! Arc II will be up soon, so look out for it. c:

And, as I said before, I would appreciate reviews~!


	10. Interlude II: The White Knight

**Disclaimer:** All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

_Victimes de Nous-mêmes _story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.

* * *

**Interlude II:**** The White Knight**

She located his soul as it descended into her toy box, and she found it broken, torn, and strangely familiar. She swept him up and attempted to make him whole, but he was like cold water, melted through her arms, seeping into the floor. The Will of the Abyss spent days watching this new specimen, as his soul recovered, pulled itself back together, became solid, substantial. The light was small, but it was blinding, and she felt unworthy of touching something so pure. She did so anyway, and discovered he was warm.

"Who are you?" His voice was low, soft, but firm. She liked that.

"My name," she reached out, and touched his cheek, "is Alyss."

"You look like that Chain . . ."

"I know."

"Where am I?"

"Nowhere and everywhere. Stay here with me."

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to. You can stay here and keep me warm. You'll be my knight."

"I don't. I can't."

She slapped him, hard, and he staggered back and sat down, and his eyes melted into liquid as she advanced on him. His pale gaze stopped her, and she felt penetrated, as though he knew what she was, her sins, like he could see the black under her white hair and her fair skin. He looked away, and she lowered her hand, fisted it until her nails dug into her palm. She crouched to his level, and forced him to look at her with a hand under his chin.

"Who are you?" She repeated his question.

"My name was Elliot Nightray. I died so I wouldn't turn into a Chain, but now . . . that's all I want."

"You're the one who was always with Glen."

Elliot blinked at her. "I don't know what you mean."

"Why won't you stay here with me?"

"Because . . . I have someone special."

She wanted to press her mouth to his, then, but she resisted, because she belonged to Jack, he belonged to Glen. She watched him a moment longer, eyes on his lips, before she stood and offered him her hand. He hesitated, before he took it, and she pulled him up. She didn't let go and led him to her mirror. He stared, his fingertips ran over the cool glass, and he looked back at her. She offered him a morbid smile, and allowed him to see. Humanity in reverse acceleration, the passing of centuries, the way his species came into being—she moved it forward, showed him the wars, the pain, the buildings that touched the sky, humans contacting the stars. He staggered, and sat down as a chair suddenly appeared for him, and she imagined he was weighed under all that knowledge.

She allowed the mirror to change again, and Elliot stood as the image refocused, and they looked down into a familiar bedroom. Leo's head was bowed—he was at his desk, writing. Vincent sat on a couch in the middle of the room, reading. He looked up to say something to Leo, and the boy lifted his head. Elliot was startled to find his glasses gone, and he found himself glued to the glass, separated from what he couldn't be near.

The image changed again, and they were watching Oz eating at a table, with Alice, with Gil, with Break and Sharon and his uncle. Oz leaned over, kissed Alice, kissed Gil, and Elliot blinked in surprise. He looked back at Alyss, and she also watched, her eyes on Oz, her eyes sad. She pressed two fingers to her lips, before she pushed them into Oz's cheek, and the image smoothed into their reflections. Her violet eyes narrowed, and she leveled a glare at him.

"You said you wanted to become a Chain."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To be with Le—Glen."

She watched him a moment longer, before she turned around. "So you don't want to be with me?"

"I'm sorry . . ."

She glanced back at him, and rested her hand on the mirror frame. "You're not Jack, anyhow."

"Do you want to see him?"

"Yes." She turned her back to him, and bowed her head. "One more time, before I die."

Elliot thought about Oz, smiling, laughing—she must have confused him for Jack Vessalius. His hand splayed on her back, and pressed between her shoulder blades.

"What if we made a deal?"


	11. Chapter 8: September

**Disclaimer:** All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

_Victimes de Nous-mêmes _story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.

* * *

******FST:** _Wake Me Up When September Ends_ Greenday

* * *

**A/N:** I wrote this long before we knew Oswald's real name or where Oz's name came from. So, if I may say, called it!

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

_**Arc II: **__**La Chute**_

**Chapter 8:**** September **

He met Rechelle Cecile among the cornstalks of her old family farm, when the sun was centered in the sky, and the geese were restless with migration for the South. It was harvest season, and the September weather was chilly, biting—but despite it all, she walked up to him in a white dress and bare feet, and she took him by the hand and led him without shoes to show him the proper way to pick corn. Zai Vessalius had come with the intention of meeting her older sister, Marie, who had invited him to her home at her coming of age ceremony, and somehow he had become lost when she insisted he see their crops. But Rechelle had found him, a seventeen year old boy standing among green stalks, and he knew Marie Cecile wasn't the reason why he was there.

He knew they were fourth cousins twice or thrice removed, yet Rechelle had inherited the same Vessalius green and gold coloring—like the people, their genes were stubbornly vivacious, bright, precociously brilliant. She was everything he was not—she laughed, he smiled in hesitation, she would pull him into silly games he had long forgotten, she would insist that he sit while she made him a crown of forget-me-nots and corn leaves. He swore her hair was made of the sun, her eyes beckoned earth—she smelled of sweet corn and warm sun and her laughter was like the breeze. She was merely thirteen, but he found himself falling anyway, a man swept away on the soft tenderness of a child.

They returned to the farmhouse drunk on sun, hands intertwined, and Rechelle's father gave Zai his blessing. They courted until she was fourteen, and their wedding was made of sunflowers, more forget-me-nots, flowers Zai would later look away from when he saw them. Marie had married a banker, and she congratulated them at the reception with her husband by her side and her fingers crossed behind her back—Zai could see when she turned to talk to his new wife, and he knew it was intentional. Still, he didn't care, it didn't matter, they were inseparable, perfect for each other, and he felt he had never loved anyone so much. It hurt wonderfully, it satisfied, it left him staggered and fulfilled. He need only breathe her in, and he would be whole.

The morning after their wedding, he woke at dawn and stood on their shared balcony—he didn't watch the sunrise, instead he watched Rechelle sleep in their oak marriage bed, the way the sun burned her hair into fire, turned her fair skin into milk. He turned to see the garden when the sun was up, to find a mourning dove on the oak tree planted next to the house. It watched him for a moment, before it flew away, and he turned around and retreated into their room. He lay back down next to his wife, and listened to her breathe until she woke.

He squeezed her hand, and she smiled and told him he was her world.

* * *

He would find himself looking over his shoulder, checking the branches of trees—he avoided the dawn and the sunset, and he ceased watching their oak tree. He knew he was being ridiculous, irrational. It was just a bird, yet he couldn't shake the sense of thorns in his heart, the imminent feeling that something dark hung over them. He sometimes dreamed of fluttering wings trapped with him in a dark room, the brush of feathers against his arms, his chest, and the inescapable feeling that his family was going to die.

When his wife told him she was pregnant, he was happy—he told everyone he knew, and he prayed that it would be a healthy child. They sifted through names, they talked about what Zai would teach a son or a daughter who would be his heir, they knew the baby would have their same gold hair and green eyes, the strongest Vessalius traits. Rechelle was beautiful in her fertility, he found himself constantly drawn to her, and she was and always would be all he ever needed to survive. He loved her, he loved their child—he convinced himself that all would be well in lieu of the dreams, the dove, that awful sensation.

His associate insisted they speak alone, and he forever regretted agreeing—he never should have taken a walk with that man among the January garden in the rain. Zai was still young, still too much of an idealist, and despite his reserved nature, he still believed in too much and took the pure for granted. Duke Barma was much older, in his forties, though he looked no older than twenty-five for reasons Zai couldn't understand. Rufus Barma's eyes were sharp, his face drawn with experience and the knowledge that all good things end.

"I understand that you're going to have a child, soon."

Zai had studied the redhead, readjusted his umbrella, stepped over a puddle. "Yes. I am."

Barma nodded for a moment. "I expect you're very excited."

"Of course. My wife has been very healthy. The doctor says he thinks it might be a boy."

"Wonderful. A son."

Zai allowed himself a smile. "Yes."

Barma's eyes had slid sideways, his head had turned, he had looked at Zai with strange pity he didn't understand at the time. The younger duke had taken a step back, as the foreboding feeling returned and he heard the call of a mourning dove somewhere over his head. Barma had looked up, as did Zai, slowly, slowly, and they found it over their heads in the branches of the birch tree above them. Barma had opened his fan, despite the cold rain.

"Those birds have been everywhere, lately. It's rather strange—you'd think it would be roosting."

Zai wasn't sure what to say. He glanced back at Barma, who again shot him that strange look.

"I need to tell you something."

"I see. What is it?" Zai asked.

"I require a price."

"What?"

"In exchange for this information, I want knowledge only you would know."

Zai narrowed his eyes. "Then why is your information worth it? Why have you brought me out here?"

"It's about your son."

A sharp intake of breath, and Zai looked away, stared up at the dove, "I see."

"You're very young, you know. Only eighteen. I think you're the youngest duke in Vessalius history."

"I am." His father had died when he was a mere fifteen; Zai had been named Duke of the House as soon as he was married.

"Then, why have you been negotiating movements with the Baskervilles? What have you been doing?"

Zai returned emerald eyes to Barma. "Why do you want to know that?"

"Because it's of interest to me, and it endangers you."

"How so? All of our agreements have been trustworthy. We're not doing anything illegal."

Barma snapped his fan shut, poked Zai in the shoulder with it. "Do you know of the Abyss, Duke Vessalius?"

"The . . . that's just a legend."

"Far from it. Surely someone has told you."

"T—told me what?" He sounded young, and he wished he didn't.

"So no one has. About Pandora, the Four Gates, all of it . . ."

Zai hesitated, and shook his head. "Isn't Pandora just a police force?"

"Something like it, though far beyond what you could imagine."

Zai chewed this over for a moment. "I'll tell you anything. But you need to tell me first."

Barma nodded. "About your child."

"Yes."

The elder duke looked away, towards the thick woods that stood at the back of the Vessalius mansion, naked in dead winter without its leaves. Zai waited—he wanted to run away and he wanted to stay, he wished he had never seen that dove in the tree, he wanted to go inside and hold Rechelle by the fire as he read. He knew Duke Barma was simply drawing it out for him, or perhaps he was truly gathering his thoughts.

"There is a prophecy."

"A pro—this is nonsense."

"Think what you want. You asked for the information."

"Alright. I apologize, go on."

"It talks about a child who will be born on the twentieth of June, a boy. It says this boy will be an instrumental force in upsetting the world's balance, that he'll be fought over, and that he may even distort Abyss. This child is your son."

"I . . . I see."

"A lot of people are afraid of or want this child. It could upset the way things are—he might even destroy everything. Pandora is calling him a 'key,' and your friends the Baskervilles want him dead."

Zai narrowed his eyes. "You're threatening me."

Barma laughed. "Don't be silly. I'm not threatening you, merely passing along what I know, and warning you."

"Warning . . . I don't need a warning! This is all—all—what's your motive?"

"Only information. Calm down, Duke Vessalius."

"You're threatening my son."

"Call it what you will—the warning still stands. You owe me information now on your association with the Baskervilles."

Zai narrowed his eyes, and looked away. The dove was still there, above them, and he could hear it calling. He wondered if it was cold, if had lost its mate, if it was lost itself. His heart felt dark, and he wanted to run, run, be far from this place, away from rain and Barma and information that may or may not be plausible. He simply wanted Rechelle and their baby, and he wanted nothing more than to live simply, and to keep peace as a duke.

"What do you want to know?"

* * *

Three days to the due date, and Zai was forced to watch the tragedy of his choices in a meeting with the Baskervilles. He was told of the prophecy, the child, and he was ordered to do the unthinkable. He and Rechelle had at last settled on a name for a boy—Ozwald Alexandre, after Zai's grandfather, yet Rechelle insisted they call him Oz for short, and it was an idea he liked. He couldn't speak as everyone waited on his answer, and he shook his head. He was aware that this was a test, but he would always remain loyal to his family before he threw anything away for the benefits of business or political gain.

"I can't. It's my own child. I . . . why would I . . ." He was horrified, and he closed his eyes and thought about doves, about the things he appeared not to understand, "I don't know what this Abyss is."

The face of the nearest Baskerville impassable. "Then one of us must take care of it."

Zai went cold—he couldn't breathe. "No! NO! I—I'll do anything! I swear! You can have anything you want!"

This was met with silence, until a girl at the head of the table smiled—Lotti, one of the upper members of the Baskervilles. "Perhaps Monsieur Zai could be of use to us. Maybe he could go in his son's place."

Zai nodded, folded his hands under the table in prayer. "That would suffice."

"It does not destroy the threat. He'll eventually have to die."

"M—maybe we can buy time. We could find a way to . . . prevent whatever might happen."

The Baskervilles all paused, and considered, before Lottie nodded, and the rest followed. "Alright. We will see if we can extend time and prevent the prophecy without killing your son. But in exchange, we will have everything of you—your body, your mind, your soul, your leadership. You're ours, now~!"

Zai stared down at his hands. He wondered if their child would resemble his wife.

"Do what you will."

* * *

True to prediction, his son was born a few days delayed of the due date, on the twentieth of June. The infant was petite, his hair was spun gold, his eyes bright green—he was his mother's spitting image, small, delicately built, fragile in Zai's large arms. The Baskervilles had ordered him to bring them the child, and he worried what might happen, what their motives could be, and if Oz would survive this. As Rechelle slept off the exhaustion of childbirth, he held little Oz close and exited their family home, with the excuse that he would perform the christening ceremony on his own. He knew it was flimsy, but he was desperate to get past this—he had to protect his son.

The Baskervilles merely inspected Oz, deemed him safe for the moment, and returned him to Zai. The infant watched him as he brought the child home, and all he could see was Rechelle, and it made Zai's heart swell. He hadn't thought it possible for him to love anyone but his wife this much, but he was proven wrong as he watched the boy grow. Oz was as intelligent as his parents, he loved books as Zai did, and he possessed the same bright persona as Rechelle.

Still, Zai was forced to distance himself. He was busy with the dukedom, and by the time Oz was five, he had been forced to turn it over to his younger brother. His deal with the Baskervilles was stealing him away from his family, away from who he wanted to be, and he worried at the perception Oz would eventually have of his father. Still, he made the most of small moments he was allowed, doting on Rechelle, reading to his son—they were constantly on his mind as he dirtied his hands with the work of the Baskervilles.

He killed men, and he allowed crimes. He looked the other way when there was no choice but to. They were planning something called a Tragedy, and he never asked about what it was—he didn't want to know. He knew of the Tragedy of Sablier, he was aware of what had happened—he knew of the Abyss, now, the four Gates, the Will of the Abyss. It was beginning to corrupt him, and he did nothing as the best of his heart was eaten away.

The day Rechelle died, Zai rose with the dawn, and he found a mourning dove haunting their tree once again. It had been in his dreams, and he woke with the feeling that something bad was going to fall on them, and by this time he knew it was inevitable. He received the news that evening, and his world had turned black. Rechelle was his breath, and she was gone—their family was dying. He sent Oswald and Adeline to stay with his brother, and he lost himself among the investigation of murder, the chaos of funeral preparation. When his children returned, he couldn't look at Oz. Ada was shy as he was, but he only saw his wife in his son.

Zai began to hate Oz for everything he used to value.

* * *

Zai Vessalius died a man devastated, because that day when he walked into the garden, he understood that he had lost everything that made someone wealthy. He had found an old folder in his desk drawer, a project Oz and Ada had worked on once. It was full of drawings, Oz's tentative nine-year-old storytelling, scribbles from Ada at one. They had given it to him the day before Rechelle had died, and it tugged at Zai's fingertips as he wandered into the garden and sat on a bench. His hands rustled the pages, and he found himself nineteen again, there when Oz was born—he had missed his little boy grow up. He had eventually done what the Baskervilles wanted, and thrown him into Abyss.

What had happened? Where had his love gone?

Oz was like his wife, but he had thrown away the last piece of her when he should have held his son and refused to let go. But now it was too late—the emotional damage was done, his brother had taken place as father figure, and Zai was sitting here dying. He knew because Rechelle's ghost had begun to visit him among his dreams, in the meeting room when no one was there, at the edges of weather changes when sun shifted into storms and he stood alone in the garden. A mourning dove had tapped at his window last night.

He had come out here to wait for her.

Doves seemed to be drawn to this place, but they were different than the birds he knew—they were white, purest feathers fell around him, brushed against his arms and his face as in his dreams, their calls smothered him. He thought about the smell of corn and realized it was September, realized her family's cornfield would be ripe to pick, that the forget-me-nots would be in bloom, and he wondered if her ghost would haunt the place they had met. He wondered if he had been doomed the day they met, or if it had started the morning of their wedding, when he had seen the brown dove in their tree. He wasn't sure it mattered, anymore.

As he watched the doves gather, as he touched the drawings, the writing, of his children, he understood. Things were unchangeable now, and the legacy he had left to his children was theirs to change. Their family had been doomed, whether from the start or not he didn't know, but it had always been meant to be this way for reasons he couldn't understand. He was, after all, only a human being in the end.

And she at last came, like a breeze, thirteen again, and he was seventeen. Golden hair, bright green eyes, that thin white dress, her feet bare. There were no children, no regrets, and no pain. Just them.

She led him away, and everything dissolved into September sky.

* * *

**A/N:** Because there must be more to Zai than we ever realized or knew. Reviews appreciated.


	12. Chapter 9: Love is Not a Victory March

**Disclaimer:** All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

_Victimes de Nous-mêmes _story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.

* * *

******FST:** _Hallelujah_ Imogen Heap

* * *

**Chapter 9:**** Love is Not a Victory March**

There was a book among Oz's extensive collection that was always with him, and it was something he would reach for between the perpetual horror of nightmares, pain, grief. It was an untranslated edition of _Romeo and Juliet_, with a now-worn red cover and dog-eared pages. His father had been determined to teach him English from Shakespeare, so it was the first gift Zai had ever given his son, bought the day Oz was born—a story, a language, a small note written in blue ink on the flyleaf.

_For my dear son, that he might know  
__the follies of man and the heart and beauty of love.  
_

_I love you,_

_Papa  
__Twentieth of June, 1851_

The book was always nearby him, now. He would often open it and trace the curly handwriting of the first and last note, letter, piece of writing Zai had left him, as he thought about their unborn children who had died. One child, two, three—Alice was stubborn, and she insisted they try again. But Oz was done. He had been done the morning after the first miscarriage, when Break and Sharon had been sitting at the breakfast table and asked them what was wrong.

Alice had drawn herself up, and looked away. "Nothing."

"You look sad." Sharon had reached across, and stroked Alice's hair, "What is it?"

Alice began to cry. Gil was silent as he served Oz and Alice. Break watched them intently with eyes that couldn't see.

"Something happened to the child, didn't it?"

Oz looked to his swordmaster, and nodded, "Miscarriage."

"I'm sorry."

"It's already buried. We did so last night." Gil whispered.

None of them spoke, and people began to avoid them as the news spread. Their friends wouldn't quite look any of them in the eye—it was as though a miscarried baby were contagious. Oscar's hopes for a great niece or nephew faded into silence, and when people inquired on the status of Alice's pregnancy, he told them it wasn't their business. The threesome distracted themselves with wedding plans that summer—the arrangement of flowers, ribbons, negotiating over colors and centerpieces and clothing.

Oz always seemed to be in the chapel. He prayed constantly, for an answer to anything—he was determined to understand why their children died, when the three of them had already been through as much as they had. He found himself wondering if they were being punished, if there was sin in love for the same gender, for more than one person. Oz had never believed that, despite the things Catholicism said about God, but he began to doubt. Still, he wasn't sure what else to do, so he recited Our Fathers and Hail Marys until he dreamed the words in his sleep.

"You're always here."

The voice was quiet, and Oz looked over his shoulder, to see Break sitting in the pew behind his, "I don't know what else to do."

"You could be investigating the reasons why."

"I am. We are. You know that—you're helping us." Medicine had failed—the doctor had tried every method, searched every answer. Break had been the one to propose the idea that it might pertain to the fact that Alice was a Chain, and he and Sharon had helped their research on Abyss since.

Break's eye dropped to his lap, and he nodded, "I know. Call me bitter—but I think there is no God."

Oz's lips parted in surprise, but it was logical when he thought on it. Though Break still attended Mass, for the sake of appearance, he had never seen the man in prayer or meditation, "Then where can you draw hope?"

Break allowed himself a half shrug and a smile, "I think you need to practice. I can even show you some of my own techniques. C'mon."

Oz glanced back at the rosary in his hand, before he nodded and stood. He followed his teacher out of the chapel, into the hallway, and they fell into easy step beside each other. Break reached across, placed a hand on Oz's shoulder, and the boy looked around, startled. Break didn't look at him, and Oz wondered for a moment if his swordmaster was so blind he needed to be led down the hall, but the Pandora agent dropped his hand. Oz stared at him for a moment longer, before he looked away.

Break led him outside, to a flat, grassy courtyard in the gardens, "Alright. Let me see your stance."

Oz complied, and drew his sword. Break stepped up behind him, and placed his hands on Oz's shoulders to discern his shift in weight, and placed his toes to Oz's heels. He considered the posture for a moment, before he gently tapped Oz's left foot with his shoe, "Move this forward a bit. And shoulders back farther." He pulled gently. Oz adjusted, and the master nodded, "Alright."

The slither of Break's sword was loud, and Oz whipped around in time to block him. The master smiled, and took the offense until he had pushed Oz back to the edge of the large hedges. He allowed Oz to retaliate and force him into defense, the hiss and clang of metal-on-metal permeating the small courtyard. Oz struggled, but Break held back enough to allow him an edge, as he stoked his student to try harder, move faster, detect weaknesses in the attack. He moved his weapon forward intentionally, felt Oz's sword lock under his own, allowed it to be flipped out of his hand. There was a moment of silence, and he could discern the frozen shadow that was Oz, before his student recovered from his shock and beamed.

"I did it! I—I disarmed you!"

Break smiled, "You did. Well done, dear student~"

Oz was too pleased to yell at Break, and he waited for his master to pick up his sword. He expected yet another attack, but Break instead sheathed his sword, and exited the courtyard with a small gesture for Oz to follow. He fell into step once again beside his teacher, and Break glanced at him as they walked. Oz paused, because something like sadness or pity flickered across Break's face, his red eye sad, before it smoothed into its typical small smile. He brushed it off—he had likely imagined it, or perhaps Break had lost himself in thought.

"Where are we going?"

"Well . . . it's nearly tea time."

"Yes, so, to the parlor?"

Break stopped, and the look returned. Oz blinked, and stepped back. His swordmaster studied him for a moment, "You always carry that book with you, right?"

"What boo—oh. The edition of _Romeo and Juliet_ . . . yes."

"Why?"

Oz hadn't expected this, "Er . . . be—because . . ." He shrugged.

How had Break known? It was something only Gilbert and Alice knew, though he supposed Gil could have told Break. There was a soft sound over them, the whisper of a flutter, and they looked up to see a mourning dove roosting in a hedge above them. Break looked up, and he smiled—it was small, sad, and Oz wondered why he felt his heart suddenly grow tight, beat faster. The dove startled when Break poked at it with his cane, and the bird flew away.

"They say mourning doves can mark misfortune."

"I've never heard that, before. I thought they symbolized peace."

"I think it's a local belief in the lower classes. It's because of their call, and their association with funerals."

"I see . . . so, parlor?"

Break returned his eyes to his student. He worried his cane in his hands, "Oz."

"Yes?"

"Your father is dead."

* * *

Alice dreamed she walked through the Rainsworth gardens, and her body was swollen, bloated with child. She stopped to pick daisies and when she touched them they died, and emitted sounds like a crying infant. She dreamed she was in Oz's sitting room, making love to him, but he didn't want it, and he pushed her away. When she asked him what was wrong, the room began to bleed and all she could see was red.

She dreamed she was in a dark room, and for reasons she didn't understand, she cried. She had a single candle and something fluttered in the darkness beyond the reach of the flame. She found a preserved fetus in a jar on the shelf, and when she picked it up, the baby looked at her and she dropped it, glass shattered against cement floor. She dreamed she was underwater, and she was in labor. She was in pain and she couldn't find Oz or Gil to tell them they would be fathers in a few hours. But the baby was inevitably birthed, and she found it was stillborn.

She dreamed she found an infant nestled in the daisy garden, and when she picked it up, it clung to her. She wanted to hold it forever because it looked like Gil, but it began to dissolve in her arms, evaporated into steam. "Why have you left me?" It spoke even as it vanished. "What are you going to do?"

She would always rouse from these dreams drowned in sheets, and she would remember Oz's wish for a fresh new marriage bed, a bed that hadn't been wrapped in the blood of innocent death. She woke one afternoon to find Oz and Gil weren't there, that she was on the couch in the parlor, and found Sharon holding her through her nightmares. When she asked where everyone was, she was told to hush.

Alice learned a few minutes later that Zai Vessalius was gone.

* * *

Oz couldn't breathe the green and gold September air, so he had gone inside. Everyone at the funeral would comment on his distance, the way he clung to his servant and his fiancé. They would note the play he carried in his hands, and wonder why he didn't speak about his father. He was Zai Vessalius' son, after all—he was now the Duke of the House, his uncle had turned it over, as Oz was the most direct bloodline. He would inherit his father's Chain, but he no longer wanted a legal contract if it would be Gryphon he bound himself to.

"Of course he would die just in time for our weddings. Of course." Oz said this to Gil as he was being held in their room, after he had broken the news to his servant. Alice was asleep on their bed—she had staggered in with the knowledge, with the burden of nightmares, so she had asked for sleeping medicine.

Gil wasn't sure what to say, "You can't die on purpose. He died of a heart attack."

"He did." Oz drew back, shook his head, kissed Gil, "I know he did."

Break said the attendant had found Zai surrounded by white doves—she thought he had seen his wife before he died. The attendant said her ghost had begun to appear to him, but Gil didn't say any of this to his master. He doubted Oz would believe him, and Gil wasn't sure the attendant had been telling the truth. It didn't fit with his image of Zai, but he had never asked if Oz's parents loved each other—he never knew Rechelle.

"I wish I had known your mother." Gil stroked Oz's hair back, "She sounded wonderful."

Oz smiled, "She was. Everyone says I'm just like her."

"Of course."

"Can you believe we'll be married in a week?" Oz whispered, "All three of us."

Gil laughed, "No. It feels surreal."

"We should be happy. We have a right to."

Gil could tell Oz was attempting to convince himself, but he said nothing, "Of course we do."

Oz closed his eyes, pressed his lips to Gil's once again, "Love you and Alice."

"Love you and Alice, too."

"What are we going to do about children?" Oz drew away, stretched out on the couch.

"I don't know." Gil reached past his male fiancé for a cigarette. He blew the smoke away from Oz.

"If we can't have children, I don't know what we would do." Oz pressed his hands to his face. He had begun to cry, "But it's destroying us. It's killing Alice."

Gil ran a hand through Oz's hair, grabbed his arm, pulled him close, "We'll find a way. I promise."

"How can you say that when you don't know?"

"God will let us find a way."

"I don't think God cares."

Gil blinked in surprise, and he gently wiped Oz's tears away with his free hand, "That's not like you. You look pale."

"He hasn't helped us; He hasn't given us any answers. I think He gave up."

"You need tea." Gil snuffed his cigarette, and gently untangled from Oz and rose from the couch.

Oz watched as a thin river of smoke climbed the air from the discarded cigarette. He reached across, pushed on it until the smoke was gone. He felt poisonous with grief, some sort of venom and lead boiled under his skin and filled his heart until he couldn't feel. He listened to the clink of Gil preparing him tea he didn't want, he stared at the discarded bodies of paper and tobacco and God-knows-what in the ashtray. The venom sunk into his heart and squeezed out of him.

"How do you know it's not your fault?" The question was quiet, but it was suppressed with accusation.

"What?"

Oz looked up, leveled a glare at his elder lover, "How do you know it's not your fault? All that smoking . . . it's probably bad for Alice to inhale."

Gil had frozen—his skin was paler than usual. Oz regretted his words, but he couldn't take them back. It was a valid observation, and Gil knew Oz was smart enough to look at such a situation objectively—but it didn't hurt any less. He looked down, and watched as Earl Grey began to steep in hot water. He heard Oz shift to sit up, and his footsteps as he advanced on Gil. A small hand covered his, holding the lid of the teapot.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"N—no, it—it's okay, Oz. It—it's a reasonable theory . . ."

"I hurt you."

"It's okay. I'll get over it."

Oz's hand squeezed his, and Gil looked up to see liquid viridian eyes drilling into his. He could drown in that color, but he knew he would never find a way to escape. Gil pulled Oz close, and the tea was forgotten as they held each other. Alice was stubborn, determined to birth a healthy child, but they each knew she would die before they succeeded if they continued this way. The three of them each hurt so much—they were forced into vain hope, forced to watch a potential family die before it even began.

"Make love to me." Oz whispered, "Please."

Gil sank into his master, and found a place he never wanted to leave.


End file.
